


The Sea of Sand

by Capella (Caprina)



Series: Sea Longing Series [11]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 119,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caprina/pseuds/Capella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A journey to the south brings adventure aplenty and leaves canon far, far behind.</p><p>Written in 2004 under the name Capella, this is definitely my epic piece and one that focuses very heavily on original characters.</p><p>Best read after the rest of the 'Sea Longing' series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Elfscribe, best beta in the world.

A parched wind blew from the south-east, swirls of air thick with dust. Dawn was breaking, the dull red sun pushing at the hazy sky and promising only more days of oppressive, arid heat to come. Somewhere in the village a dog whined.

On such a morning the view of the great Sea of Sand held little romance. Beyond the ragged fringes of the farms lay the band of thin grey scrub, then the rolling dunes stretching for league after league to the remote, jagged peaks. It was a vast, inhospitable wilderness, harsh and deadly.

The woman stood on the roof looking out to the shadowed mountains, her mood as bleak as the landscape she surveyed. 

There had been a time when she had loved this place. Bitter tears stung her eyes as she recalled her first night in this house, when they had stolen up here to enjoy some cool respite at the end of a sweltering day. Her beloved had offered her choice fruits from an iced plate, and they had marvelled together at the endless stars, seeing them as if the heavens were newly made for them in their happiness. She had known then that she was blessed, and had truly believed that she would never be lonely again.

How wrong she had been.

Her gaze dropped to the track of beaten earth that passed along the side of the building, too far below and yet not far enough. The fall would certainly injure, but would not kill outright. It was, anyhow, a useless thought. To run from here would require a strength of spirit that she no longer possessed; the beast had seen to that. And a more permanent escape, although she dreamed of it every day of this wretched existence, was not a path she could take as long as there was one person still alive who loved her.

Whatever the cost to herself, he must never know of her misery. If he learned the truth of it he would run to her, desperate to set her free. Then the beast would see him dead, and would delight in the killing. She had seen enough of the beast’s cruelty to know that he did not make such threats idly, and she bore scars aplenty to remind her, should she for a moment manage to forget. Not for nothing did he inspire fear in all who knew him. Even if he did not have the law on his side, there would be none from the village to challenge him on her behalf.

The woman turned her face up to the sky as if seeking something she knew she could never find. All she could do was survive, aiming at the start of each day only to reach the end of it. Beyond that, there could be no hope. She could do nothing to help herself, and who else could possibly save her? Avenging heroes belonged in stories and songs; there was no place for them in the reality of her life.

She shut her eyes and clenched her fists, tight, as she heard the voice from below calling her name: once, twice, and the third time with increasing anger. 

So it begins, she thought. Another day of trying to circumvent his wrath when I know that my efforts are bound to be futile. If all he wants from me is my suffering, how can I expect to avoid it?

As she turned to the doorway, the restless dog let out a sudden howl, a fitting echo to her own weary despair. The man whose name she would not speak, the man she would never acknowledge as her rightful husband, awaited her. The thought of facing him filled her with dread, yet face him she must, for what other option did she have? She blinked the scouring dust from her eyes and forced her leaden feet towards the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

"As King Elessar wishes, so shall it be done." Farongil sat back in his chair and folded his arms with a complacent smile. 

Imrahil suppressed a grimace at hearing the words for the seventh or eighth time that day, and forced himself to still the hand that had started to tap on the table. Twice already he had caught himself beating out a brisk rhythm with the heavy signet ring. Unfortunately his elven heritage did not run as far as limitless patience.

The prince knew that he ought to show more enthusiasm. That Aragorn should entrust the supervision of affairs in Umbar to him at such a crucial time, as the southern state took its first steps towards independence, was a measure of the king's faith in his judgement and loyalty. Naturally he would do all that was necessary to ensure that this trust was fully justified, but he could not guarantee that he would enjoy the task. 

Had the viceroy himself been sitting across the table instead of his self-satisfied son, matters would have been very different. They would have drawn the business of the day to a close by now, and be sharing a few stirring tales of the old days over a glass of decent wine. Brenhir could hardly be expected to leave his post in these last few weeks before the assembly's investiture, however, so Farongil's long-windedness must be endured with good grace.

"Very well," Imrahil said firmly. "It is as it should be." 

The scribe Meh'ten pushed some papers towards Farongil with the barest hint of expression on his broad-boned face. The younger man harrumphed, and fussed with the documents for a moment.

"I have here the details of the twelfth councillor's family," he said, proffering them to Imrahil. 

"Undoubtedly they are all in order," the prince replied dryly, anticipating the next salvo.

Heledir, having had years of experience of gauging Imrahil's moods, intervened smoothly. "Sire, if I may?"

Imrahil deliberately avoided his advisor's eye as he passed the sheets across. "We will study them closely later," he said, forcing his mind back to matters at hand. "For the moment, perhaps it is more important for you to run through the outline of the inauguration ceremony."

Farongil nodded, and without the slightest hesitation launched into a lengthy description of the planned festivities. Imrahil struggled to concentrate on the minutiae of song, speech and oath, with little success. Instead he found himself thinking of Farongil's father once again. Brenhir was a likeable old rogue, bluff and hearty, but tough as ancient leather beneath. How on earth had he produced such a solidly pompous son as this one? 

It was fitting enough in principle that the viceroy should send his heir north on his behalf. After all, Imrahil's elder son had travelled to Umbar to represent Dol Amroth on a fair handful of occasions. Perhaps Merenin should have been leading these talks as well; he would have acquitted himself with brevity and unerring wit, as always. As it was, Merenin was out somewhere enjoying the sunshine with his lovely, pregnant wife, while Imrahil sat and suffered in the council chamber.

At least these momentous events in the south had given him some things to look forward to. The journey to Umbar by sea would be a welcome break from his routine and the city itself, by all accounts, was a veritable riot of colour and noise. He could only hope that there would be some opportunity to explore the place properly in the midst of all the pomp and pageantry. 

"Yes, very good," he said, as Farongil came to a natural halt in his monologue. "There is just one alteration to the arrangements of which you should be aware."

The young man looked at him curiously. "Sire?"

"Prince Merenin will not be travelling to Umbar for the ceremony." 

"Oh, but -" Farongil's pasty face fell to an extent that was almost comical. 

Imrahil, for all he found the man irritating, had not the cruelty to let him suffer. "I shall attend it myself in his place," he said decisively.

The smile lighting the youngster's features made him appear almost handsome. "Sire! That is wonderful news!" 

"As King Elessar wishes it, so shall I see it done." Imrahil could not resist slipping the phrase in. 

Farongil was apparently too absorbed in his joy to notice any acidity on the prince's part, but the scribe Meh'ten did not miss it. One curved eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly, and for a second the man's jet black eyes met Imrahil's in a look that spoke volumes of the intelligence hidden beneath that implacable exterior. Now there, thought the prince, was an individual he would like to know better. Meh'ten exuded such inscrutable calm that he could have been descended from the first-born, were it not for his skin the colour of polished teak, and the tight-curled black hair that he wore cropped close to his elegantly shaped skull.

"My father will be overjoyed to receive you," Farongil was saying.

"Aye, and for myself, I shall be delighted to renew our acquaintance. Many years have passed since last we met."

His self confidence restored, Farongil returned to his exposition of the ceremony details. Before long Imrahil was clutching one hand with the other in order to immobilise it, and wondering how many more minutes he should let the meeting run before calling a halt for some refreshment.

When Belgan appeared at the door it almost seemed that he had read his monarch's mind. "I beg your forgiveness for my intrusion, My Lord," the steward said quietly, gliding across the floor to Imrahil's side. "A visitor has arrived, and Prince Merenin insisted that you be informed at once."

"A visitor?" Even as the words left Imrahil's lips he realised what the old man's pained expression must mean, and his heart began to thump.

"Aye, My Lord. From, ah, Ithilien."

Only with the greatest difficulty did Imrahil restrain himself from leaping out of his seat. As it was, his face must have been quite a picture. "Then show him to my private study and offer him some refreshment," he said quickly. "I shall join him shortly, as soon as we have finished here, since I am eager to hear his tidings."

"At once, My Lord." The steward nodded stiffly and made his way to the door, hardly noticed by the other occupants of the room, their attention being firmly fixed on Imrahil.

After the briefest of pauses, Heledir rustled the papers before him and spoke. "Sire, if I may, I would like to question Lord Farongil about some of the points herein. There are one or two slight discrepancies which it would be well to clarify before the council is instated." He turned to meet Imrahil's gaze and indicated with a tiny movement of his brows that he was offering the prince an easy escape route.

"Very well, Heledir. Gentlemen, could you continue without me for a short while? By your leave I would learn the news from Ithilien before dinner." Given Imrahil's royal status, the words were a mere formality. It seemed important, however, to maintain some outward show of decorum in spite of his inner chaos. He had nothing to gain by presenting himself as a capricious lightweight, even before such company as this.

Farongil and his party rose to their feet, and pleasant words were exchanged. A few more minutes passed before Imrahil was able to extricate himself from the chamber, followed every step of the way by a dozen pairs of inquisitive eyes that seemed to bore holes in his back. He nodded to the guard holding the door wide for him and kept his face straight until he had turned the corner into the long hall. Then, not caring who might see him, he hurried to the stairs and took them two at a time.

In the corridor to his private quarters he met a serving boy with a tray on which two goblets and a pitcher rested. "I will take it, Therien, thank you," Imrahil said, hearing a strange rough edge to the words. 

The boy handed him the tray and bowed, then lingered uncertainly.

"Off you go!" 

Once the servant had scurried away down the passage, Imrahil took a deep breath and strode towards his study. For a moment he felt ridiculously nervous, his stomach in turmoil. He had no time to compose himself, for as he approached the door, it swung open and there stood Legolas, dressed for the road in green and brown, tall, radiant and glorious.

"Imrahil."

He felt that his skin might scorch under the intensity of the elf's gaze. His own emotions were at such a pitch that he was momentarily speechless. As if in a dream, he walked into the room and up to the great desk. There he deposited the tray, making haste before the rattling glasses could shatter or fall. Then he turned to his lover, who had moved only so far as to shut and bolt the door.

"I can not believe that you are really here," Imrahil said at last.

"I am real enough." There was an unnerving quality to Legolas's voice, low and compelling.

"But in your letters, you said… I did not expect to see you until the end of the autumn."

"Nor did I expect to be here so soon, at the time when I wrote to you."

"So why…?"

Legolas took a step closer. "I discovered, my prince, that I could not bear to wait so long."

Then the elf was touching him, one hand grasping his arm, the other at the back of his neck, pulling him close. Imrahil fought for breath.

"This time I will play no games with you," Legolas muttered against the man's cheek. "You need not ask if I have missed you."

Their mouths met, and Imrahil was almost knocked flat by the force of the elf's feelings rushing through him. His mind struggled to comprehend, even as his body responded with glee. Passion he had known from his lover, but never like this, fuelled by such desperate, unrestrained desire. 

On the point of swooning for lack of air, Imrahil pulled back from the ferocious embrace. "I have missed you too. I understand," he whispered. The words seemed inadequate and he was not entirely sure that he spoke the truth.

"Do you?" Legolas brought both hands up to the man's face. He brushed the hair back behind Imrahil's ears, then began to stroke him, touching everywhere, brow, eyelids, cheekbones, lips, his eyes burning into Imrahil's all the while. 

"Do you really?" the elf continued, as his hands moved down Imrahil's neck to start work on the fastenings of his tunic. "Have you ached for my touch, as I have ached for yours? Did you cry out my name in the darkness of night as you tried over and again to bring yourself relief? Did you dream of holding me close as I slept, and of waking me with the taste of my flesh in your mouth? Did you notice, every day, a thousand small things that you longed to share with me as we lay together in the quiet before dawn?"

Imrahil leaned against the desk's edge and grasped Legolas's shoulders for support. His body was shaking in response to the elf's passionate words and the sensation of strong fingers roaming possessively across his torso, kindling fire wherever they made contact. "Yes, yes, I did," he managed to gasp.

The elf spoke with fervour. "Then perhaps you do understand why I have ridden hard for nigh on a month to be with you now."

Imrahil's response was lost as Legolas pulled him forward to kiss him again. This time it was slower, more searching, but no less arousing than before. Held tightly against his lover, his bared chest rubbing against the embroidered suede of the elf's jerkin, his erection forced hard into the elf's hip, the prince was helpless, overwhelmed.

At last Legolas stepped back and eyed him dangerously. "Take off these layers," he said, fingering the silk of Imrahil's shirt. "I need to look at you." 

It was well that the task was already more than half completed, as Imrahil's trembling hands would have struggled with the double row of clasps. As it was, he slid the opened garments from his shoulders and flung them heedlessly to the side. Then there was silence as Legolas simply stared, his gaze moving from neck to groin excruciatingly slowly as he absorbed every detail. Imrahil was forced to shut his eyes in an attempt to maintain some self control. His hands slid back on the desktop, bracing the weight that his legs seemed unable to hold.

"Aye, and the rest," the elf said, moving closer and placing both hands on the man's belly. As he progressed downwards, his fingers insinuating themselves under the top of the painfully tightened leggings, Imrahil could not suppress a cry.

"Valar!" 

The elf seemed not to heed him. Instead he forced the overstretched fabric outwards and down, releasing Imrahil's stiffened cock from its confines. A wicked smile stole over the fair features as Legolas regarded the solid length resting between his palms. 

"Wait, Legolas, please! If you do that now, I will… oh!"

"You will what, my prince? Will you come for me, hard and hot in my hands? Will you show me how much you have missed me, how much you desire me?"

The words alone would have been sufficient to make Imrahil lose himself. Coupled with the elf's authoritative touch, one hand gripping and sliding over the hardened flesh while the other cupped and fondled his aching balls, they were utterly devastating. 

"Come for me now," urged Legolas fiercely. "Let me see it. Let me hear you."

Imrahil had no choice but to obey. He arched his back and screamed something unintelligible as a stupefying crescendo of sensation overtook him. For a long moment he teetered on the boundary of pain and pleasure, then the pulses began, deep spasms of the muscles all through his lower body that lasted an age and left him shuddering, gasping, eyes full of tears.

It was a while before he found his voice. "Gods, Legolas! I do not know…"

"Shush." The elf brought a sticky hand up to the man's lips to silence him. He watched closely as Imrahil licked it clean of his own semen before leaning in and adding his mouth to the combination. 

Imrahil, invaded once more by demanding fingers and tongue, felt dizzy enough to faint. He had no strength to protest, no will of his own, nothing but a million overly sensitive nerves and a mind hazy with incredulous joy.

"Turn around." He had been so lost in the moment that the elf's words came as a shock. Bemused, he did as he was told, and found himself pulled in close to his lover's body. Strong arms crossed around his chest and palms brushed over his tender nipples, making him shiver and cry out feebly. The cold metal of a buckle grazed his lower back as Legolas shifted and rocked his hips forwards, whilst lower still a rather warmer hardness was pressing relentlessly between his buttocks. 

Teeth tugged gently at his earlobe, followed by the dance of a nimble tongue. Imrahil let out a shaky breath.

"I want to come deep inside you." Legolas spoke close to his ear. "Is it well with you?"

"Yes! Oh gods, yes… please…" Imrahil shut his eyes.

"Over the desk, then." One of the elf's hands slid to the prince's hip and started to push the leggings down further. The other planted itself firmly between his shoulder blades and guided him forward. 

"But… my bedchamber…" Imrahil remonstrated weakly, gesturing with his head towards the connecting door at the rear of the study.

"…is too far away," Legolas replied darkly. 

A tremor of something between excitement and fear passed through Imrahil. As his forehead sank down to rest on his crossed arms, he heard the unmistakeable rustle of clothing being adjusted. The slight sound of a cork leaving a bottle followed, then a pause during which he listened to the frantic beating of his heart and pictured the elf smoothing fluid over his beautiful cock. The mere thought was enough to make him groan.

An unfamiliar sweetish smell met Imrahil's nostrils moments before he felt the slippery hands on him, parting his buttocks and sliding firmly between them. 

"Have you imagined this, my golden prince?" the elf asked.

"Yes, yes, so many times." He inhaled deeply, willing himself to relax as insistent fingers massaged his long-neglected flesh. A strange, penetrating warmth seemed to spread from the touch, and when Legolas began to push himself home, there was no pain; only an astonishing sense of fullness, and the first inkling of the shattering pleasure to come.

"Legolas? What is this?" The words came out almost as a sigh as the elf lunged forward, his pelvis pressed against Imrahil's rear, his cock completely sheathed. 

There was an odd vulnerability to his lover's voice as he replied. "I have no wish to hurt you, but I did not think that I could hold myself back. It is a gift from Rivendell's healers." 

Imrahil swallowed hard and pushed against the body behind him, delighting in the small, desperate noise this drew from the elf. "Do not hold back," he said. "Never hold back."

This time it was Legolas who groaned, as his hands gripped the man's hips and he started to move. 

It seemed that the elf had taken his words to heart. There was no preamble; he plunged into Imrahil as if their very lives depended on it, and his emotions were no more guarded than his actions. The prince marvelled briefly at the raw lust and longing flooding into him. Then Legolas tugged his hips upwards as he thrust with almost brutal power, and Imrahil ceased to think at all.

He could not have said, afterwards, how long it lasted. Certainly it was long enough for him to feel as if his body had been taken apart piece by piece, and rebuilt into something new, something fragile and unique, something that was no longer his own. 

As he sensed the end approaching, as the hand encircling his cock pulled faster, harder, drawing him inexorably towards the brink, Imrahil realised that the elf's moans had taken the shape of words.

"I love you, Imrahil… I love you!" The assertion only served to confirm the glorious knowledge surging all through his body.

"I feel it! Now finish it, make me yours," he gasped.

Legolas came, with a cry that was neither sob nor shout of triumph but lay somewhere between the two. Long past the point of self control, Imrahil bit through the skin of his own hand in the euphoria of his orgasm, but noticed neither the pain nor the taste of blood on his tongue. 

Some time later, he became aware that Legolas was slumped over him, nuzzling into his neck and breathing deeply. Despite the slenderness of the elf's physique, the muscles of his own legs and back were beginning to complain.

"My love?" Imrahil ventured.

"Mmm?" Gone was the note of savage urgency in his lover's voice.

"Could we move to the bedchamber now?"

"Oh!" Legolas quickly backed off and helped the prince to his feet, his face a picture of concern. Drawing the man into his arms, he murmured, "Did I hurt you? I am sorry…"

"Do not even think to say those words," Imrahil said quickly. "I am not hurt. I simply want to lie with you in comfort and hold you until the world's end, or at least until it is time for dinner."

The elf's gentle laughter was all he had needed to make his happiness complete.

 

********************

Even the warm glow that follows physical completion could not still Imrahil's curiosity for long. 

Holding Legolas close and running his fingers leisurely through the golden hair, he began with the simple questions, the practicalities of time and place. So he learned that the elf had tarried some six weeks in Rivendell before riding directly for Belfalas. The visit to the Shire had been postponed, as Legolas explained: 

"When it is time for Gimli to return, I shall ride to meet him and we shall travel back that way. By then, a dose of the hobbits will be good for him. For myself, I found I had other, more pressing needs."

This was all the opening the man needed. He rolled onto his side to look directly at his lover.

"Are you ready to tell me what it is that has… changed?" he asked tentatively.

Legolas gave a smile fit to melt all the snows on Caradhas. "As well as I am able," he replied. He brought his hand up and traced the lines of Imrahil's face as he continued. "I set off on this journey hoping for answers, and I sought them at every turn: in the depths of my own soul, in the peace of the great forest, in conversation with those so much older and wiser than myself."

Imrahil waited, hardly daring to hope.

"And at every turn I heard the same response. I have come to understand that it is the truth." The elf curled his fingers around the back of Imrahil's neck, massaging gently. "My love for you is no transgression, no matter what has gone before. On the contrary, it is a precious gift to be treasured, celebrated. I would delay that celebration no longer. I do not have an eternity in which to say it, so let me tell you now that I love you, my prince, body, mind and soul. I love everything that makes you what you are." 

Had ever a man been as blessed as he? Imrahil felt tears well in his eyes as he searched for words that might do justice to his feelings. Finding none, he settled for sinking into Legolas's arms and kissing him with all the zeal his declaration deserved. 

Unfortunately duty could not be kept at bay for ever and eventually the lovers drew apart. 

"I should descend for dinner soon, else my other guests will wonder," Imrahil said without enthusiasm. "They do not yet know of your presence; I shall have to enlighten them."

"I was under the impression that Belgan had announced my arrival." Legolas raised an eyebrow.

"Not in so many words. I suspect that was Merenin's idea of discretion." The prince sighed. "And now a double explanation will be due. Why you are here alone, without escort, and why such secrecy at the outset."

"It is Brenhir's son, I gather, not the old man himself," the elf said. "A pity; I met the viceroy after the war and found him to be most personable. I doubt that he would have asked too many questions."

"His heir, on the other hand, will find it impossible to understand why you should choose to travel in such simple style."

"Merenin did imply that he is not the easiest of men."

Imrahil raised his eyes to the ceiling and laughed shortly. "You could say that. His visit has tried my patience somewhat, I must admit. There is no harm in him, but he is rather fond of… detail. Did Merenin tell you why he is here?"

"Aye, to discuss the investiture of the council of local noblemen in Umbar. It has come sooner than I had imagined." The elf's voice was warm with approval. "It is no surprise, however. Aragorn has never harboured any desire to rule an empire."

"Oh, but Brenhir will hold the reins for a while yet," Imrahil replied somewhat sharply. Foolishly, he had not realised that Legolas would be so well informed of the king's plans. "I hear reports that there is still much resentment towards Gondor, south of the border."

"That is only to be expected! Yet this is a move in the right direction; let us hope the people of Umbar see it in that light."

"Indeed." Imrahil rolled himself to the edge of the bed, sat up, and stretched his arms above his head. Then he turned back to the elf, who lay magnificently displayed against the rich brocade covers. "How long were you planning to stay here?" he enquired abruptly.

Legolas treated him to a lazy grin. "Well, my people are under the impression that I am in the Shire at this moment, and do not expect me for another two months, or maybe three. I would not wish to outstay my welcome, but…"

Imrahil frowned. "Then I shall have to find a tactful way to change the arrangements for Umbar's ceremony once again." 

"How so?" Legolas slid elegantly across the bed to sit beside him.

"Only this afternoon, I announced that I will set sail in less than two weeks in order to take part in the proceedings myself. They were expecting Merenin, but he has his own reasons for remaining here." Imrahil smiled at the elf's quizzical expression. "He did not tell you? You did not see Lelneth? Clearly not, or you would know that she is with child! I shall have to persuade Merenin to take my place, regardless, for I cannot cut short your visit so prematurely."

"There is, of course, another possibility," said Legolas, drawing close to lick the prince's ear. "I have heard that Umbar has much to offer the discerning traveller."

"You would come with me?" Imrahil clutched his lover's hand and turned to gaze at him in delight. "But that will require an even greater feat of justification…"

"Ah, but do you not think the viceroy's son might be inspired to extend the invitation himself?" The elf's voice was practically a purr. "If I tell him a little of the sea-longing, he will not think it so strange that I am here, alone and unannounced. I may even persuade him that an elven prince would be a fitting guest at such a great occasion of state. Sit me beside him at dinner, and I shall do the rest."

Imrahil eyed the blandly ingenuous face with suspicion. "Have a care that you do not exert too much of your charm on him," he growled. "A Farongil besotted with you would be more than I could tolerate."

Innocence transformed itself to delicious wickedness as Legolas moved, lightning fast, to straddle Imrahil's thighs and bend down for a kiss. "I am ashamed of myself for saying it," the elf murmured, "but your jealousy excites me. Must we descend for dinner at once, or may I demonstrate to you now that your concern is unfounded?"

The prince drew in a hissing breath through his teeth as the heat of desire burned through him again. He shifted under his lover's weight, and winced at a swift, sharp pain in his lower back. "I think it might have to wait until later," he announced ruefully, "and even then you will have to treat me with care. Until today I had thought that 'fucked to within an inch of his life' was merely a figure of speech."

Legolas laughed softly, his hot breath caressing Imrahil's neck. "My poor prince," he said. "It is quite clear that I have left you alone for far too long. I hereby vow to do all I can to make amends for my crime. Believe me, this afternoon's pleasures were barely a taste of what I have in mind for you."

Imrahil groaned and hugged the elf's warm body fiercely. He had no doubt that Legolas would make good on his promise; at the rate his heart was working, the prince's only problem would be living long enough to enjoy it. Well, now was the time to start. He ran a hand down the smooth back to pull the elf's hips in closer. 

"Damn them all," he said gruffly. "They have waited this long; let them wait thirty minutes more."


	3. Chapter 3

"And I still say, 'e's a pretty enough piece, but a tad too womanly for my likin'. If I want a girl, I'll wait till we get ashore and find meself a real one, y'know?"

"Buy yourself one, you mean, you old goat. 'Sides, you're talking out of your arse. Womanly? You been walking about with your eyes shut?"

"Nah. It's you as needs to look a bit harder, if you can't see it."

"What, just because of the hair and the sweet face? Don't you be fooled. They say he's a deadly shot… took down four mûmaks single-handed in the war. Would've liked to have seen that."

"Aye, but that's not all it's about, is it?"

"Well, if you think he's a woman in bed, you're either completely deaf or a total fecking idiot."

"What're you on about?"

"You telling me you didn't hear our prince last night? If there's a woman anywhere that can make a man howl like that, I want to know her name. No, your pretty piece of an elf was giving him a damn good seeing-to, till he was practically begging for mercy. You take a look at how he's walking today, see if I'm not right."

"Now just you watch what you're saying in front of young Nev 'ere. That kind of talk gets 'im all over'eated, y'know."

"Hell, at his age, the sight of two seals sitting on a rock's enough to get him overheated. What's the matter, eh, Nevvy? Got a little problem? Want me to come below with you, help you sort it out?"

"Now look what you've done. Scaring 'im off like that. 'E's only a lad, y'know. You shouldn't be rough wiv 'im."

"Hah! He knows I'm only teasing. 'Sides, Dirgan'd rip my bleeding balls off if he thought I'd so much as breathed on his precious boy."

"Aye, reckon you're right there."

Gedrinel had heard enough. He could hardly blame his crew for their prurient interest in the royal passengers, but listening to this kind of nonsense was doing nothing whatsoever to improve his mood. Never before had he slept so badly on a calm sea and woken to such a sense of irritation that even the bluest of skies couldn't cure him. 

He sighed and stepped out onto the deck.

"Right then, you scurvy knaves!" he roared. "What do you think this is, the Queen's pleasure barge? Let's see you looking lively – I’d hoped we might reach Umbar at some point today! And you two -" he pointed at the loose-tongued pair who'd been leaning at the rail sharing a pipe, "have you really got nothing better to do? Master Perrin, there's the small matter of my breakfast, and Tamás, get yourself over here!"

The first mate sent a sly grin after the arthritic figure of the cook shambling off to the galley, then strutted across the deck to join Gedrinel. His eyes were alight with mischief.

"Don't you worry, Captain. You're not the only one with, uh, pressing business in port. The lads'll get us there fast enough. Reckon we could all do with a bit of shore leave."

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Tam, letting your foul mouth run off with you like that. Sometimes I wonder if it isn't time I showed you the cat."

Tamás was clearly unimpressed by the half-hearted threat. "Well, I could hardly let old Perrin tarnish the reputation of a great war hero, could I?" he said with a shrug. "'Sides, Prince Imrahil hasn't exactly made much effort to keep things quiet."

"I'm quite sure that the prince does not expect the crew to spend half their time idling around and speculating about his… his private life."

"You couldn't rightly call it private, Captain," the younger man said smartly. "He's a soldier's man, is Prince Imrahil. I don't suppose he'd be at all surprised to hear the lads' talk. And you know what? I really don't think he gives a damn."

Gedrinel sighed again, from somewhere deep in his being. Tamás could be infuriatingly cocky at times, but on this occasion he was undoubtedly right. Imrahil seemed to be having the time of his life, as brazen as you please with his beautiful elf. It was Gedrinel himself who was left to do all the worrying.

But about what, exactly, he couldn't rightly say.

 

*******************

 

However many times Gedrinel brought the Silver Lynx into Umbar, the approach would never cease to impress him. 

Under a bright morning sun they passed through the narrow straits, grey crags towering close on either side. The ship leaned hard to starboard as she skirted the treacherous rock shoals, then straightened with a creak of her timbers in the calm, sheltered inlet, the greatest natural haven on all the coast. 

As the high walls fell away to reveal the wide vista of the bay, Gedrinel's heart lifted, and beside him Imrahil and the elf fell silent. Remembering his own awe on making this trip for the first time, and feeling a remnant of it even now, it wasn't hard for the captain to see the magnificent sight through their eyes. 

Lush green land sloped down to low cliffs on either side of the long, broad channel. Umbar lay inland, at the eastern end. To the north was the great sweeping curve of the harbour, once home to the might and terror of the corsair fleet. Where in those dark days had lain rank upon rank of sleek, swift ships, black-sailed and forbidding, there was now the cheerful chaos of a thriving trading port. Boats of all sizes displayed every colour of the rainbow, and dozens of small craft were plying busily between the bigger ships and the shore.

The city itself stood proud on the spur between the harbour and the narrow southern inlet. With its colossal granite battlements, and beyond them the gleaming towers and domes, its grandeur and power were apparent from many miles distant. 

"I had thought Minas Tirith splendid," Imrahil murmured. 

"Aye. I have seen nothing like it, in all my travels," Gedrinel replied. 

Legolas said nothing, but raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he peered across the water.

"How many times have you made this journey now?" Imrahil asked quietly.

"Oh, some six, maybe seven times a year since the war's end, I should say."

"So you will have business on shore, I imagine, acquaintances to visit and the like." 

Gedrinel stole a glance at the prince, uncertain where this was leading. Imrahil was regarding him with something of a gleam in his eye. "I shall keep myself busy," the captain said noncommittally.

"Well, then, may I ask a favour of you?"

"My Lord, I am at your command," replied Gedrinel, standing tall.

"Oh please, not like that," the prince said briskly. "I ask you as a valued friend, not as a subject, as you well know."

"In which case it will be my great pleasure to be of service in any way I can, as you well know." The captain smiled, and felt the tension start to leave his shoulders.

"Then while you are not at the ship, leave word of your whereabouts, or someone who can deliver a message to you. I may have need of you."

Gedrinel raised his eyebrows. "For a speedy retreat in case of diplomatic disaster?" he enquired in an undertone.

"Indeed no. Rather to save us from the tedium of formal occasion, and the stuffed shirts of the viceroy's household. If his son is anything to go by, we are set to meet a few. We hope to see something of this city, and we would rather do so in agreeable company. I'll wager you could show us some of the more interesting aspects of the place."

The captain bit back a laugh at the sudden mental picture of himself, Imrahil and Prince Legolas taking the tour of the dockside, arm in arm and singing as they staggered from tavern to tavern. Perhaps that wasn’t quite what his lord and friend had in mind. 

"The Autumn Star up ahead, Sir!" the first mate called, relentlessly cheerful.

"So I see, Master Tamás," Gedrinel retorted, his earlier irritation returning at once. He might be feeling his age this morning, but he was still in possession of his eyesight. "We'll bring the Lynx up behind, to starboard, and put you across out of sight of prying eyes in the port," he said confidentially to Imrahil, before stepping forward to issue the commands. 

They stood watching the flurry of activity on the lower deck. " I am still not entirely convinced that this ruse is necessary," Imrahil told him.

"Believe me, Sire, it is the best - the only - thing to do. You can't be pulling up for an occasion like this in a mere merchant brig."

"Oh come now, Gedrinel, do not act as if you are unaware that the Lynx is one of the finest craft on the whole damned coast."

"Aye, for speed and agility, there's barely a match for her. But those aren't the qualities you need when you're here to represent the king." They stared at each other for a moment, during which Gedrinel's sleepless nights and anxiety finally got the better of him. "You must not underestimate, Sire, the importance in these parts of making the right impression," he continued recklessly. "They are most particular about ceremony and, ah, propriety."

"I beg your pardon?" Imrahil's brow lowered into a frown and he opened his mouth to say more. 

On the prince’s other side Legolas, now gazing fixedly at the two men, cleared his throat. It was a delicate sound that almost certainly had no physiological purpose. 

Imrahil looked at the elf for an instant, and his face softened as he turned back to the captain. "Gedrinel, the freedom Prince Legolas and I have enjoyed these last few days is a rare gift indeed, and we are grateful to you and your crew for allowing it. But please do not imagine that we do not know how to conduct ourselves in more formal company. I can assure you, the right impression will be made."

"Very good, Sire," said Gedrinel miserably. He stared across at the Autumn Star, now no more than forty yards distant, and at those members of the prince's guard and household who lined the deck of the larger ship.

"Enough of all that." Imrahil clapped him firmly on the shoulder. "It seems that duty calls. Legolas?"

"One moment, if you please," replied the elf, his words a gentle lilt. 

Imrahil stepped down onto the main deck and strode along the array of men who stood there, scrubbed and shining, to make their farewell. Legolas allowed his eyes to follow for a moment, then turned to Gedrinel with a warm smile.

"I simply wish to add my own thanks," the elf said. "These days aboard have been magical, and I eagerly await our return journey, although I am no less keen than Prince Imrahil to see the wonders of Umbar first." The musical voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "As for your words of advice, be assured that I fully understand your concern. You speak out of love for him, and he knows it; do not fear that your words have offended. All will be well, so cease your worrying, if you may. I trust that the time ashore will offer you pleasant diversion, and look forward to our meeting on land." 

With that the elf touched a hand to his heart, bowed his head briefly and stepped forward to join the prince, leaving Gedrinel quite speechless in his wake.

After a few deep breaths, the captain mustered his resources sufficiently to take leave of Imrahil in appropriate style, given the intense curiosity of their double audience. The silence was absolute on the foredeck of the Lynx, as every man craned to catch his last glimpse of the exotic pair. Over on the Autumn Star, some four dozen eager faces were turned their way.

Once the board had been slung over to the larger ship and lashed into place, Imrahil winked at Gedrinel and sauntered across with the confidence of a true sea-faring man. Legolas followed with his usual swift grace, his hands never touching the ropes.

The transfer complete, the Silver Lynx pulled away, heading for her usual berth in the commercial port. At the same time, the Autumn Star slowly turned into the wind and began her course to the Royal Pier. Gedrinel watched the receding ship with a strange mixture of relief and dismay, wondering once again what could possibly have got into him.

By the time they reached land he was no nearer to understanding the problem, but at least he had settled on the solution to his malaise. 

While the men made fast the ropes he cast his eye over the usual mayhem at the dockside. There were the rough looking stevedores in all shades of brown, the old men with ramshackle carts and donkeys no less rheumy than themselves, the painted doxies half-hidden by coyly drawn veils - riddled with the pox, no doubt, every one of them, but the men would never learn. And there too were the boys, scampering amongst the crates, legs and wheels; thinly dressed urchins with wide hopeful smiles, always on the look out for the chance of a copper or two. It wasn't long before Gedrinel had identified a familiar face, a lad who could be trusted to run with a message and return directly. 

He caught the boy's eye and felt his spirits lift a little. He'd be tied up with ship's business all afternoon, but it would be wise to send a note without delay. Zirri was at the peak of her profession, after all, and very much in demand. Only a fool would expect to be made welcome at her house without an arrangement agreed well in advance.

 

*******************

 

The huge wooden doors were weathered and warped by dozens of scorching summers, but the heavy iron bands across them would keep them secure for many more. Gedrinel paused before raising his hand to knock and wondered at the smell of wealth about this house. In the thirteen years he had known Zirri, she had certainly found her place in the world.

The small sliding panel drew back and a single eye regarded him, the white showing startlingly pale against the dark brown iris. After a moment the panel was closed and the great gates swung back on their well oiled hinges.

"Greetings, Albakhri. I trust you are well," Gedrinel addressed the enormous dark-skinned servant.

Albakhri nodded as if condescending to an inferior. "My mistress is expecting you, Captain," he said, no more inclined to conversation than he had been on any of Gedrinel's previous visits.

Guided forward by the gatekeeper's outstretched arm, Gedrinel hurried through the arched hallway, barely noticing the fine tile work in shades of green and blue, nor the exquisite statues arranged against each wall. His eyes had no time to accustom themselves to the dim light before he emerged into the dappled sunshine of the courtyard. 

Even in the heat of a summer afternoon it was a pleasant place, cooled by the water that trickled through the artful arrangement of bowls and channels at its centre, and shaded by high walls and tall trees. The stone benches and tables were of graceful, simple design and adorned with cushions and cloths embroidered with silver threads. Around the walls and columns grew a profusion of plants, carefully tended and chosen for their scents as well as their rich colours. On a hidden branch a bird sang prettily.

To Gedrinel's eyes, Zirri herself appeared no less enchanting than her surroundings. She sat at the fountain's edge, still and composed, watching him with an eloquent welcome in her lovely dark eyes. Lustrous black hair fell over one shoulder, nearly reaching the jewelled fingers clasped in her lap. The clothes she wore, a filmy red and gold tunic with matching loose trousers, exposed little of her enticing, creamy-brown flesh, yet somehow displayed her in a manner that was subtly provocative. The effect was hardly accidental, yet the knowing expression on her face held just as much clue as to her appeal. Zirri was no empty-headed, docile creature of pleasure. Like so many others, Gedrinel often sought her company as much for the joy of her conversation as for her skills in the arts of love.

"Gedrinel, my handsome captain!" Zirri's low, rich tones sent a shiver through him. "It has been far too long. What has kept you from these shores?"

"Believe me, had there been no other considerations, I would not have been so slow to return," he said with feeling.

"So come, sit with me, and tell me your news. Lai'li! Nessya!" The beautiful courtesan turned and beckoned to the girls waiting half-hidden in the shadow of the long colonnade. "You must play something sweet and soothing for the captain."

"Nay!" Gedrinel exclaimed at once. "Today I seek no such entertainment." He was astonished by the vehemence of his own words. 

Zirri regarded him closely for a moment, then nodded and waved her hand in an elegant yet unmistakeable gesture to the timid musicians. Quite silently they slipped away, vanishing into the gloom at the corner of the courtyard.

"Zirri, I need…" 

Her hand now silenced him with the barest of movements. "I know what you need, my captain," she purred, her smile slowly widening. "Have I not always known?" 

Rising from the bench she stepped towards him with a rustle of silk. Her scent, rose, vanilla and some strange warm spiciness he could not name, evoked a powerful yet indistinct memory of pleasures past. His desire threatened to overwhelm him as he moved to her and pulled her into a fierce embrace, his hands holding her firmly against him as his mouth attached itself to hers. 

Zirri responded with an ardour that had to be more than professional competence, her fingers tugging in his hair and seeking out the sensitive places across his back.

When they finally pulled apart Gedrinel stared at her, looking for something unnameable in her eyes. What he saw there was amused delight, and perhaps a little surprise. 

She smiled at him again, a smile of infinite promise. "Come, then," she said, "and let us go inside."

Gedrinel had been no virgin when he first came to Zirri, but as a lusty man in his twenties he had known little of slow and sensuous love. Over the years she had taught him much. He had become accustomed to allowing her to set the pace of their play, letting her lead him gradually towards dizzy heights of ecstasy that left him utterly exhausted, yet filled with a warm sense of well-being. On this afternoon, however, he had no desire for subtlety. In his haste, he might as well have been a raw young lad again.

Once the door was closed behind them he fell upon her, barely able to wait until her clothes slid to the tiled floor before pushing her down on the bed and mouthing her neck and breasts hungrily. Somehow he opened his breeches, then almost at once he was inside her, taking her roughly and grunting incoherently with each thrust. Zirri's hair fanned out across the cushions, her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands gripped his arms. Her wide eyes, full of dark fire, never left his own as she murmured her encouragement: "Yes, my captain! Yes, yes, Gedrinel!"

All too soon it was over, and he lay breathless, half draped across her, wondering at his own desperation and the nagging unsatisfied ache that lingered even after such a powerful climax. Zirri said nothing, merely stroking soothing hands across the damp skin of his shoulders and up and down his spine. 

"I must apologise for my lack of… sophistication," he said at last, hardly daring to look at her. 

She laughed, a sound that never failed to thrill him. "You must know by now that sophistication is not always what a woman craves," she said, turning her head to place a kiss on his brow. "And really, you should not feel the need to apologise for such a stirring performance."

He grinned weakly at her teasing, and rolled to the side a little to allow some air to circulate between them. "I don't know what troubles me," he sighed.

Zirri arched a brow. "Perhaps it really has been too long," she suggested, "as you still so stubbornly refuse to take a wife to care for you while you rest on northern shores."

Gedrinel snorted at her words. "You know my feelings on the matter," he said. "I'm convinced that it's no prospect for a woman. All those lonely nights while her man is away at sea, and the terrible dread that fills her heart every time the wind blows foul from the east. No, I'm happy with my life as it is, and its pattern suits me well enough."

She regarded him quizzically. "Then there is something else?"

"Pfah! Let's not talk of it. A few restless nights and I'm growing old before my time."

"You could not convince me age has anything to do with it, not when you are still capable of such… healthy vigour. But if you are having difficulty sleeping, I should be able to help you. You have suffered no physical injury? It is not pain that keeps you awake, but rather preoccupation of the mind?" 

Gedrinel nodded, thinking that this was as close to the truth as he could allow her. 

"Ah, yes." A familiar gleam entered Zirri's eye as she nimbly slid herself from Gedrinel's grasp and off the bed. Without bothering to dress, she crossed to the door and held it ajar as she called out to the servants. Gedrinel pushed himself up on his elbows to enjoy the sight of her, and tried to work out what she was saying. He recognised the words "Bring…. quickly… please," but the rest of the sentence was lost to him. He knew what to expect, however. Zirri had a passion for herbs, and was generous in sharing her healing skills with her clients. No doubt some bitter but highly efficacious concoction was on the way.

"It will take a while to prepare," she said, turning on her heel to give him a glorious view of her smoothly curved belly and luscious breasts. "In the meantime, there are other ways to deal with a fever. Please… turn over."

Gedrinel sighed deeply as he complied with her request, and stretched himself luxuriantly on the scented cotton sheet. The smell of mint reached him as her fingers started work, stroking and rubbing the cooling oils into the knotted muscles of his shoulders and back. It was a strange yet wonderful sensation, at once stimulating and profoundly relaxing; for this alone he would have gladly handed over a week's earnings. 

Zirri's hands were wondrously talented, but the ease with which she directed their conversation was no less skilful. She quizzed him gently for news of Dol Amroth, and entertained him with stories of their mutual acquaintances which were light-hearted and amusing, yet never quite indiscreet. It was Zirri's special gift, this ability to make a tale which was actually in the public domain sound as if it was a secret spoken for your ears alone. 

He was enjoying her attentions so much that it was some time before he realised that she'd asked him nothing about his voyage, nor even about Prince Imrahil's visit. It struck him as odd, and he was about to raise the subject himself when her thumbs began to press into his buttocks and thighs in a manner that was far from calming. All thought rapidly fled, and he groaned helplessly into the pillows. 

When she finally asked him to turn onto his back, he was more than ready for her. Reaching up, he pulled her smiling mouth down and kissed her with renewed fervour. Her laugh blew warm breath into his mouth, and he caught the faint tang of sweet lemons. 

"Oh no," she whispered, brushing her lips across his cheek. "We will go at my speed, this time."

He closed his eyes as she shifted down his body and bent to tease his belly with her tongue. Loose dark hair tickled his sides, making him shudder. Her fingers moved gradually up his legs then played over his hips bones before sliding through the wiry curls at his groin. 

"Ah, ah yes!" It was the last comprehensible phrase to usher from Gedrinel's lips. As Zirri pressed her palms down on either side of his penis and enclosed its very tip with her mouth, sucking delicately and licking back and forth with slow deliberation, he was reduced to a series of unintelligible gasps and cries that grew increasingly desperate. 

As ever, Zirri read his responses perfectly, even though he was incapable of speech. Just as he knew he could bear her sweet torment no longer, she lifted her head and brought her whole body forward, taking her weight on her arms and leaning down to press a hot kiss to his forehead. Gedrinel's eyes flew open in time to see her arching up and settling herself over him. Then again he was inside her, calling out something that might have been her name as her hips began to circle. He watched in mesmerised rapture as Zirri's hands slid up her body to cup her breasts, her head falling back as she gyrated above him. Her powerful inner muscles squeezed and released him in a steady rhythm. 

It was useless to try to hold back. It seemed only seconds before he was coming again, letting out a shout that must have been audible down at the docks. Then he was lying still with his eyes closed once more, taking long shuddering breaths and simply waiting for his strength to return, his mind blessedly blank.

When he roused himself it was to see Zirri sitting on the edge of the bed, her face serene, a deep goblet in her outstretched hand.

"You are ready for this now, my friend," she said. 

Gedrinel took the proffered vessel and raised his head far enough to peer at its contents. 

"What is it?" He sniffed at the pinkish liquid.

"She'naya," Zirri replied. "An infusion of flowers from the south. It will help you to sleep. Although your troubles may work their way out through your dreams, in the morning you will awake refreshed."

A tentative sip proved the concoction to be sweet, really quite pleasant in taste. "Watermelon," he pronounced.

"Yes, it works well with the she'naya, and makes the swallowing of it a little more pleasurable."

He hesitated for a moment before grinning at her and gulping the rest of the drink down. There was no real need for him to return to the ship until the morning, and a few hours of deep sleep would set him right. 

Zirri took the goblet and set it on the floor before settling amongst the cushions beside him. She gazed at him fondly, a speculative quirk to her mouth. 

"So, now, tell me about your voyage," she murmured. "They say that Prince Imrahil and his elven friend sailed with you. Is it the truth?"

Gedrinel snorted with sudden mirth. "I understand your game," he said. "You wait until I'm helpless in the aftermath before prising information from me. Is a man to be allowed no discretion? Do you want me to lose the confidence of my prince?"

"Oh, how you wrong me!" Her eyes widened in mock distress. "You know that your secrets will go no further than this bedchamber. I seek only to further my own knowledge of the world outside these walls - how else am I to do so?"

She was right, of course. Beautiful as she was, she would not have progressed so far had she been one to tell tales of her clients. Poor Zirri, so astute and accomplished, so close to the heart of society and yet forever denied access to its glittering ranks. Gedrinel thought for a moment of the reality of her situation, and relented.

"Yes, the two princes, Imrahil and Legolas, did indeed sail with me on the Lynx," he concurred. "They crossed to the Autumn Star and rejoined the royal household before putting into port."

Zirri rolled over and pushed up onto her forearms, the better to pin him with her keen regard. "It is well that they are here," she said wryly. "The ladies of the court have been weeping in their beds since learning that Merenin will not be visiting this year, but I gather that the father is a more than worthy substitute for the son."

Gedrinel laughed again at her audacity. "I don't see with their eyes, of course," he offered, "but I'd wager you're right. If anything, I'd say that in the father they have the better end of the deal. The two of them are uncannily similar in looks, and Prince Imrahil's age would be impossible to judge, but he has the more… compelling character. He has a most commanding presence."

"Indeed?" Zirri arched a perfectly shaped brow. "And yet it is Prince Legolas who is considered to be the great beauty. Does he live up to his reputation? Should I perhaps be concerned for mine?"

"It's certainly true that he's fair beyond measure, and with a grace that could never be human," the captain replied thoughtfully. 

"Does he resemble a woman, as some claim?"

"No… no, not in the slightest. His stature, his bearing, his whole manner - not like a woman at all."

"And is that manner cold, distant, such as elves are wont to be, according to the tales?"

Gedrinel smiled, thinking of his last conversation with Legolas. "Nothing of the kind. He can appear almost unnaturally composed, it's true, but in conversation he's utterly charming. I rather doubt that his presence will encourage the ladies of the court to sleep soundly."

"From your description, I would think not," Zirri agreed. "Well, it seems I shall have to exert some influence to ensure a privileged seat for the ceremonies. This paragon of male perfection clearly deserves a close look." She leaned a little nearer and gazed into Gedrinel's eyes before continuing, "All in all, you must be very happy for your prince."

For a moment, Gedrinel was too shocked to contemplate a response, and when he finally opened his mouth no appropriate sound would come out of it. Zirri watched him intently and interpreted his silence with pinpoint accuracy, as always.

"Oh come, now, Gedrinel," she chided gently. "Did you imagine that such a wonderfully romantic tale would not have reached my ears long before you reached my bed? This is a house of pleasure, there is no shame in speaking of such things here. And tell me honestly: in matters of importance, have I ever asked you to do more than confirm the details of news that I already know?"

He shook his head, still unable to find the words.

Zirri slid down amongst the cushions and brought her mouth close. "Why does it trouble you so?" she whispered.

Gedrinel groaned. What was the point of torturing himself in the name of discretion? His crew were a reliable lot, loyal to a man, but sailors new into port had few things on their minds, and prudence was not amongst them. With a belly full of ale and a wench on each arm, they'd be eager to tell their stories to any who'd listen. All of Umbar would know soon enough that the ladies of society would be sighing in vain over Imrahil and Legolas.

"Are you going to pretend ignorance of the affair?" Zirri stroked his hair soothingly, even as she continued her inquisition.

"Alas, no!" The words burst out at last, striking a bitter note against the mellow harmony of the afternoon. "I could hardly have missed it, without being so lacking in my faculties that I'd no longer be fit to captain the ship."

This, it seemed, was what Zirri had been waiting for. She drew back a little and narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you saying that your passengers were rather too… affectionate within your sight?" she asked, a hint of laughter audible in her voice. 

"Huh! Not so much within my sight," he growled.

She chuckled delightedly. "Ah, poor Gedrinel! It is no wonder you have not been sleeping well. There cannot be much privacy to be found on a ship, and the royal suite - is it very close to the captain's cabin?"

"Above it," Gedrinel replied succinctly. He shut his eyes and felt a flush heating his face as he tried to suppress the memory. "May we talk of something else now?"

"You still have not told me why it so hard for you to speak of this," Zirri said, ignoring his plea. "Does the thought of two men loving each other cause you such anxiety?"

"Oh, please -"

"I would have thought that you had seen enough of the world to know that love comes in many forms. Who amongst us is qualified to set one above the other?" Her voice was gentle.

"It's not that! I've been at sea all my life; if ever I had such anxieties, I would have confronted them long ago. It's just…" his words fell away as he sought for an explanation that might satisfy her.

"…just that this is different?" Zirri shifted on the bed to sit looking down at him with a face that was no longer full of mirth. "Is it, perhaps, that the elven prince has stirred something in you that has lain dormant until now?"

He glared at her, open-mouthed. "Zirri, that is a ridiculous idea," he managed at last.

She asked no more questions, but her eyes continued their relentless search for the truth in his own. At last her lips curved into a strange little smile and she placed a cool hand on his brow. "Ah, but it is not the elf, not the elf at all," she said slowly, almost as if she was talking to herself. Then to him, "Tell me: you have loved your prince for many years, have you not?"

Gedrinel shuffled back on his arms and pushed up to a sitting position to meet her gaze on the level. "Loved Prince Imrahil?" he said hotly. "I've admired him since the day I first set eyes on him, when I was a lad of eleven on my uncle's brig. Yes, I love him, and so I should as a loyal citizen of Belfalas! But I do not love him in the sense that you mean. You cannot think it of me! It is simply not in my nature."

They stared at each other for an instant, then Zirri shrugged, and was once again the charming courtesan, all tact and concern. "Not in your nature, of course," she said, in a purr that was almost suspiciously sweet. "I forget myself. You did not come here for such talk, did you? Now lie back again and let me fetch fresh cool water to bathe you before you sleep. The she'naya will be starting to do its work."

As she rose from the bed and busied herself about the chamber, Gedrinel let his eyes drift closed once more, feeling the first tendrils of sleep licking at his consciousness. She was quite right about that, at least. He gave a long and thankful sigh and allowed himself to sink back into the scented pillows. It seemed like an age since he'd really been able to rest.


	4. Chapter 4

The chicken was by far the best that Imrahil had ever tasted. The skin, charred almost black, was crisp and tantalisingly savoury, whilst the flesh below was succulent and sweet. He demolished the third piece with alacrity, then followed the example of his host by bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean of juices. A glance down the table showed that Legolas was similarly occupied, and gazing back at him with a wicked gleam in his eye.

The night was already sultry, with a warm southerly wind offsetting the effects of a clear sky, but as Imrahil watched his lover it seemed to him that the air in the courtyard became quite stiflingly hot. Legolas drew his fingers out of his mouth almost painfully slowly. He showed his tongue for a moment, swirling it around his fingertips, before gradually sucking one digit in again, his moist lips sliding back and forth over the flesh, his cheeks hollowed. All the while he stared at Imrahil with a look of undisguised desire.

Imrahil shifted in his seat as the blood rushed unerringly to his groin. Agitated as he might be, he was not going to be outdone. He tore off another piece of the flat, chewy bread and wiped it around his plate. Then, after a quick check left and right to ensure that they were momentarily unobserved, he made a show of taking in the morsel with deliberate care, using his lips, teeth and tongue to full advantage and licking every last crumb from his fingers.

Poor Gedrinel would most definitely disapprove.

Legolas's eyes widened as Imrahil grinned across at him. The connection between them at that moment held no elvish mystery, just the intimacy of a couple who know what heights of pleasure await them, even if the details remain to be explored. It was a good thing the elf had been given chambers adjacent to his own, although Imrahil would still lie with him tonight if he had to walk half way across Umbar to do so. The grin spread further across his face at the thought, and was met by an answering twitch of Legolas's lips. His lover then turned back to Farongil, as the young man returned to his place on the elf's far side.

Imrahil himself could ignore his neighbour no longer. 

"The goats are the real problem out there," Brenhir was saying. "They graze everything down to stubble and it takes years to re-grow, by which time the soil has gone, of course."

The prince nodded decisively, assuming what he hoped was an expression of wise concern. "Of course," he agreed. 

Under different circumstances, he might have found the topic of agricultural problems in the Umbar hinterland a fascinating one. With the pulse throbbing mightily between his legs, however, he was having some trouble concentrating. He gazed at his host, and felt himself calm a little as he considered the changes the last twelve years had wrought in the man.

Life in the southern province clearly agreed with its governor. Brenhir's once florid skin was tanned to a rich nut brown, and his body, though still massive, had lost its unhealthy paunchiness. His hearty good humour was much in evidence, his vigorous manner contrasting sharply with that of his pasty, pedantic son. Not that Farongil lacked animation with a few glasses of wine inside him and Legolas at his side. The young man's enthusiasm for the elf's company was almost comical. No doubt an amorous declaration would be forthcoming before too long. 

So much for propriety! Imrahil smirked into his goblet, then composed himself to face Brenhir.

"You enjoy the life out here very much, do you not?" he enquired pleasantly.

"Enjoy it? How could I not enjoy it? It's a fascinating place and the people are charming if you know how to handle them. The sun shines all year round but the sea air keeps the temperature bearable. The hunting out in the country is first rate and there's enough intrigue here in the city to keep a man entertained for an age. It's a good life." Brenhir waved his knife for emphasis. "Then there's the food, of course. Damned fine, eh?"

"Damned fine, indeed." Imrahil took a forkful of salad and chewed it appreciatively. The dark green leaves had a strong, spicy taste that contrasted wonderfully with the intensely sweet tomatoes and a sharp note of lemon. "Everything seems to have more flavour than it does in the north. Perhaps I should bring my cooks with me on my next visit; they might learn something." 

"Oh, no doubt they would, but don't expect them to reproduce these dishes in Dol Amroth! The raw ingredients make all the difference. Wait until you try the fruit, you'll understand what I mean."

Their amiable conversation drifted on throughout two more delicious courses. No mention was made of the political situation or the forthcoming events. They were both old hands at diplomacy, and knew better than to ruin a good dinner with talk of matters that could wait until the morning. Instead Brenhir expounded on the marvels that Imrahil could hope to experience during his stay in the south. The viceroy's enthusiasm for his adopted country was infectious, and the prince quite forgot to cast lingering looks down the table as he listened to tales of strange customs and rituals, exotic peoples, fabulous beasts, and of course that most wondrous of sights, the great Sea of Sand. 

"I was already eager to see the desert for myself," he told his host, "but after all that you have said I must admit to being quite consumed with the notion."

"It wouldn't be too hard to arrange," Brenhir replied. "A day and a half on a decent horse will get you out to our place on the edge of the sands. It's nothing grand, a middling-sized villa really, but good enough for a day or two's stay, eh? Of course, I can't leave the city myself at the moment, but you could take a few of the men, get up a bit of a party."

Imrahil sat forward in his chair. "You are generous," he said. "It is a fine idea, and I shall discuss it with Legolas later. If he can be persuaded to extend our stay here, it is a journey I would very much like to make." Privately, he was already sure of the elf's response, but there was no harm in being seen to observe a little formality.

Their discussion was brought to a halt by the appearance of a fleet of serving boys bearing piles of fruit in gilded dishes, which they placed at intervals down the centre of the long table. In the mellow lamplight the fruits themselves seemed to glow, enormous peaches and apricots and a number of other species that Imrahil did not recognise. 

"Try one of these," Brenhir said, handing him a large, almost egg shaped object with a smooth skin of mottled green and yellow. "I think you'll find it quite unusual."

Uncertain how to proceed with the strange delicacy, Imrahil waited for Brenhir to take one for himself and to set about it with a knife. As he once again mimicked his host and cut a slice from the long side he discovered a dense flesh, startlingly bright orange in colour, and dripping with sticky fluid. It proved to have a vividly sweet and perfumed flavour, quite unlike anything he had tasted before. 

"Astonishing!" he pronounced, grinning at Brenhir as the juice ran unchecked down his chin. "What on earth is it?"

"The locals call them manga," replied the viceroy. "Rather special, eh? Careful of the parts around the stone, though, the fibres will stick between your teeth and you'll have a damnable time of it getting them out."

Eager to share his discovery with his lover, Imrahil leant forward to catch Legolas's eye, only to find that the elf seemed to be experiencing a revelation of his own. His exclamation of pleasure rang out above the background murmur of conversation, and his face was fairly glowing with delight. What was more, he was once again licking some delicacy from his slender fingers, but this time, to Imrahil's chagrin, his gaze was fixed on Farongil as he did so.

"These are dates?" Imrahil heard Legolas ask. "Forgive my disbelief, but I have eaten dates before at the court of Minas Tirith and they were nothing - nothing like this… That was utterly delectable."

"No, the dried ones are nowhere near as good. Take another, please!" Farongil's expression of foolish infatuation was obvious from several places down the table. 

Imrahil sighed, irritated and amused in equal parts. His annoyance rapidly evaporated, however, as Legolas turned to him with a smile of innocent joy. "Prince Imrahil, you must try one of these," he said happily, handing the dish to the nobleman nearest him with a nod to indicate its final destination. 

"And you must try a manga," Imrahil replied, returning the favour.

By the time the dinner was declared finished, the prince was sure that neither his belly nor his senses could stand much more of the wondrously unfamiliar food. He greeted Brenhir's suggestion of a turn in the gardens with considerable relief. The governor called down the table to ask Legolas to accompany them. Farongil, of course, was keen to join the group, but was smoothly dismissed by his father before Imrahil could even find time to form a frown. Brenhir's jovial exterior concealed a practical intelligence that bordered on ruthlessness when occasion demanded it. 

As they walked through the arch that led from the main courtyard into a smaller paved area with a fountain at its centre, Brenhir shook his head. "Farongil's a good lad, well meaning, but subtlety isn't his strong point. Can't help it of course. He's the spitting image of his mother's brother, the poor blighter. I should think he drove you to distraction in Dol Amroth, eh?"

Imrahil stifled a laugh, somewhat taken aback by the governor's direct approach. "Your son's behaviour was entirely appropriate throughout his visit," he said gravely. Legolas caught his eye and looked away again quickly.

"Entirely appropriate? Well, I should damn well hope so. I would have come myself, but it wasn't a good time for me to be away, and the boy's been angling after a trip north for an age. Of course he had Meh'ten with him to do all the real thinking."

They paused by the fountain as Imrahil turned to Brenhir. "Ah," he said, "Meh'ten struck me as an intelligent man who knows a great deal more than he chooses to give voice to."

"You're absolutely right, the man is as sharp as the king's sword, and a mine of information, to boot, when you can persuade him to come out with it. Now he's the one to talk to if you want to know more about the desert; it's where he hails from, after all."

"Is he still with you?" asked the prince. "I did not see him at either of the meals today."

"Oh, he's still with us, yes, I wouldn't let such a valuable man go," the viceroy replied. "But the indentured servants don't eat with the household here like they do in the great halls back home. I should think there'd be an uprising amongst the local gentry if I were to break with that particular custom." He gave a wry snort and gestured to Legolas, who was standing on the other side of the fountain staring up at the trees beyond the far wall. "Come on then, let's not wait around here. Prince Legolas, you must be keen to get out of all this stonework and into a real garden, eh?"

"You know me well, Lord Brenhir." The elf graced him with a courteous nod, and followed him through another arch, with Imrahil not far behind. 

They emerged into a third enclosed space, but much larger and very different in nature from the others. Only the half moon and a few flickering torches lit their way, just enough illumination to show a profusion of plants dotting the beaten earth, their scents powerful in the warm night air. The strange tall trees rose from the ground at intervals, bare, rough trunks topped with a shock of thin, frond-like leaves. 

Legolas wasted no time in moving to the nearest tree. He placed his hands on the fibrous bark and gazed up in wonderment. "Are these the palms that bear dates?" he asked. 

"In theory, yes, although we don't get any fruit from these."

"They are quite unlike any tree I have seen before," the elf said slowly. "I should very much like to climb one and look more closely at it in the daylight."

"Well, you're welcome," laughed Brenhir, "although how you climb one of those is beyond me. I'm no expert, but I gather they're unusual in all sorts of respects. In the morning I'll introduce you to Hachid, the head groundsman. Doesn't speak more than a handful of words of Westron, of course, but we'll sort out somebody to translate for you. Hachid will be overjoyed to show you his precious gardens."

"Then it is an excellent plan," said Legolas with a smile. 

They wandered down to the end of the space, with Brenhir naming the plants as far as he could and indicating the statues and seats recessed into the high walls. In the far corner steps led up to the battlements. They stood at the highest point for a while, staring out to the calm, inky waters on one side, and across a mass of roofs and fortifications on the other. The governor's palace occupied the prime position on the promontory, and all of Umbar was laid out before them.

"It's tempting to forget that this is a city long used to siege and war," murmured Brenhir, suddenly solemn. "I come up here sometimes to remind myself."

The viceroy pointed out some of the prominent buildings before leading them back down into the charming walled garden. By an elegant bronze statue of a noble youth, he paused and cleared his throat.

"I hope my son's attentions are not an embarrassment to you, Prince Legolas," he said gruffly. "He lacks experience in these matters, and cannot see what is in front of him. I could talk to him, if he gets to be a nuisance."

Imrahil raised his eyebrows in astonishment, but the elf reacted calmly. 

"Please do not concern yourself, Lord Brenhir," he said evenly. "There is no embarrassment, and if necessary I shall speak to Farongil myself. I would not wish to cause him unwarranted discomfort." 

The viceroy looked from Legolas to Imrahil and back again, uncharacteristically hesitant. After a moment he shrugged. "I suppose you're used to dealing with this sort of thing, fending off the unwanted advances, eh?" 

Legolas did not speak, but simply smiled enigmatically.

Brenhir harrumphed in a manner that was so like his son, Imrahil had to grin.

"Well, I should be getting inside now before my wife comes out looking for me," the governor said. "I've made sure your chambers have a view of the garden, Prince Legolas, but if you'd rather spend the night out here, you won't be disturbed. I've seen to that. The torches will burn themselves out in a while."

"You are most thoughtful." The elf clasped the man's outstretched arm and bowed his head. 

Brenhir turned expectantly to Imrahil. The prince spoke, as casually as he could, before the question could be asked. "I shall stay for a while myself, since the air is so pleasant and I am not yet ready for sleep. This day has left me with far too much to think about."

The viceroy chuckled, his equanimity apparently restored. "And it's only the first of many such, you can be sure," he said. "Well, I bid you both a good night."

Once Brenhir had left them, the lovers settled on a stone bench near the most impressive group of palms. Imrahil reached for Legolas's hand, suddenly feeling that it had been far too long since they had been alone.

"You could have spent the afternoon in the gardens and spared yourself all that formality," he said. "There was no real need for you to meet the councillors with me."

"Perhaps I was under no obligation, but it was the right thing for me to do, none the less," the elf replied, circling his fingers on the back of Imrahil's wrist. "How else could I discuss them all with you?" 

Imrahil smiled, touched by the notion, though he was well aware that Legolas had another powerful motive for his interest. Imrahil might be the king's official representative here, but Legolas would no doubt visit Minas Tirith long before he did, and Aragorn would be a fool not to ask for a first hand account of events to supplement the prince's written report. With his sharp faculties, sound judgment and faultless memory, the elf would make an unsurpassable witness.

They spoke for a while of the men they had met, the idealists, the pragmatists, the self-aggrandisers. On the whole, they agreed, it was not a bad mix of personalities for an advisory group. 

"And I have no doubt that Brenhir will handle them with consummate skill," said Legolas with a slight laugh. "It is my impression that few of them have the measure of him, as yet."

"If any of them," Imrahil agreed. "Aragorn chose wisely when he installed Brenhir in this position."

"Indeed." 

They sat quietly for a while, listening to the distant sounds of the city and the sea crashing gently against the rocks below. Legolas gazed up at the trees silhouetted against the stars, and Imrahil gazed at Legolas.

"So beautiful," the elf murmured, after a time.

"Yes." Imrahil's agreement could not have been more heartfelt. He slipped a hand under the elf's hair and stroked the back of his long neck.

Legolas stretched like a cat and leaned into Imrahil's fingers with a sigh. The prince felt his own pulse quicken at once.

"Your behaviour at the dinner table was quite scandalous," he announced, increasing the pressure of his touch. "I believe you must be the most dreadful tease in all of Arda."

Perfect teeth gleamed pale in the moonlight as Legolas turned to him. "You have some skill in that direction, yourself," the elf said, leaning close enough for him to feel warm breath on his face, "and besides, you do me wrong. For is it not true that a tease is one who tantalises, with no intention of making good his promises? I assure you, I do not plan to leave you unsatisfied tonight."

Imrahil swallowed a groan. "Then come inside, and you can start satisfying me straight away," he growled, his fingers digging into a firm thigh while his other hand crushed the elf's cheek against his own. "Brenhir has promised that we shall not be disturbed, but it is a risk I am loathe to take."

"Have some patience, my hasty mortal," Legolas whispered. Suddenly, he slid from Imrahil's grasp and sprang lightly to his feet, leaving the prince blinking in surprise. "There is something I wish to investigate first."

"What are we looking for?" Imrahil asked, following his lover through the trees. He stumbled over a small creeping plant and cursed quietly. 

"I am sorry, my prince. I forget that your eyes are not so keen as mine in the moonlight." Legolas waited for him to right himself then set off again at a rather gentler pace. "But in actual fact, this is not a matter of looking. Does your nose not tell you of my quarry?"

Imrahil took a deep breath, then another. It was true; amongst all the exotic scents of the garden one stood out, an intense, heady perfume that grew ever stronger as they walked. Surely it was something he recognised from the oils and potions imported into Belfalas from the south… He frowned, searching for the name.

"Jasmine!"

"Aye, jasmine, but have you ever smelled jasmine quite like it?" replied the elf, taking his hand and leading him through a small arch into a tiny walled space, filled with the rich aroma of the plant. There were no torches in this shadowed corner of the garden, but there was just enough light to see Legolas’s ecstatic expression as he broke away from Imrahil and went to stand at the wall, reaching up with both hands to touch the delicate tendrils.

"Ah, yes," the elf murmured. "I had heard tell that fresh jasmine was… ah, magnificent." He bent towards the wall to rest his forehead there, and let out a long, ragged breath that made Imrahil's blood run hot. 

The prince took a step closer. The smell of the jasmine was almost overpowering in such close quarters, and was making him feel a little light-headed. The effect it was having on his lover, however, was rather more specific. He heard his own breathing grow loud as he watched Legolas turn around and lean against the stonework, his raised arms entwined to the elbows in the trailing growth. His lover's head fell back and shifted from side to side, eyes closed and lips slightly parted.

"It is… it is a most astonishing sensation," Legolas whispered. "I would not have believed it to be so… intense. I could lose myself…."

This was enough for Imrahil. A couple of paces brought him up close, one hand grasping his lover's hip, the other holding the golden head steady as he moved in for a kiss. He pressed his body against Legolas, chest to hammering chest, groin to pulsing groin, thigh to warmly resilient thigh, and pushed his tongue firmly into the elf's mouth. Sweet dates and wine could not mask the unique freshness of the elf himself, a taste quite as intoxicating as the jasmine.

When he drew away, Legolas was gasping. 

"I try to live my life in a decent fashion," Imrahil moved his head to the side, and spoke directly into his lover's ear. "But when it comes to my elf, I am a jealous and unreasonable man. I must insist, therefore, that if you are to lose yourself, you will lose yourself for me."

"Ahh…" Legolas's groan seemed almost desperate. "Then touch me," he sighed. "I am so very near…."

The prince needed no further encouragement. Letting his weight fall against the elf, he began to grind their hips together, his own erection grateful for the friction. As he kissed Legolas again, this time thrusting his tongue back and forth in a slow yet forceful rhythm, he brought his hand around to caress his lover’s earlobe, tugging and rubbing the soft flesh between finger and thumb. 

Legolas had not exaggerated the extent of his arousal. In a matter of seconds he was arching his body against Imrahil, moaning into the man’s mouth, and shuddering his way to a violent climax. Through the thin layers of silk and cotton that they wore, the prince felt the pulsing heat; through the touch of the elf’s spirit he sensed a fraction of his lover’s suffocating pleasure. Only with difficulty did he hold himself back, force himself to wait for his own release.

“Come inside” he murmured when Legolas began to relax in his arms. “I would destroy ten years of diplomacy on my son’s part if I were to be discovered out here, doing what I intend to do to you.”

The elf let his head fall forward and kissed Imrahil’s neck softly. “And what, exactly, is that?” he asked.

“I am going to lay you down on your back and take you, take you so hard that you scream out my name to the gods as you spill yourself again,” Imrahil replied, all notion of subtlety forgotten. “Then I will stroke you until you are ready to burst, and lick you until you are sore. When you finally beg me to stop I will roll you onto your stomach and take you once more. And still it will not be enough.” 

Legolas gave another long, shaky sigh. “Then let us go,” he said decisively, extricating his arms from the mass of jasmine.

“Will you not bring some of the flowers with you?” the prince asked slyly. 

“No, better that they stay where they are. In any case, it is not necessary. The sense of them will stay with me for some time, I think.” The elf ran a teasing hand down Imrahil’s chest. “’Tis well that you ate so heartily this evening, my prince. You are going to have need of your strength.”

 

********************

 

In the quiet hours of the early morning Imrahil lay awake, holding his lover close. A cooling breeze, salt-scented, drifted through the room. Thankful as he was for its soothing touch, had the night been sweltering and the air motionless, he would not have been willing to let Legolas go. His body, utterly spent, cried out for sleep, but his mind was not yet ready to let him rest.

Such joy, such unthinkable pleasure, was more than any man could possibly deserve.

“Will you come with me into the south?” he whispered, stroking the soft skin of the elf’s cheek with reverent fingers.

“Do you imagine that I would let you go alone?” Legolas lifted his head a little way from the pillows and eyed him in the half light.

“I would not consider venturing out of the city without you,” said Imrahil, “so if it is not your wish to go…”

“What makes you think I have no desire to see it for myself?” the elf said lazily. “The great Sea of Sand, the palm groves of the oases, the people of the desert… it is the stuff of fantasy.”

The prince buried his nose in fragrant hair and kissed the tip of a pointed ear. “Then we shall make this journey together, you and I,” he breathed, “and witness such sights as I had never dreamed of seeing.”

“So we shall,” the elf concurred, running a hand down Imrahil’s side from ribs to hip and resting it there, firm and protective. In spite of the heat, the man shivered, and pressed himself a little closer.

“I want to lie with you under the stars,” Imrahil murmured, “and make sweet love to you in the midst of all that vast emptiness, naught but the two of us in our passion.” He would find a way to leave Brenhir’s men behind, to ride out across the sands alone with his lover, to make his wish a reality. The vision stirred him, and, unbelievably, he felt himself growing hard again.

Enough… some corner of his mind was still clamouring for rest. He sighed, trying to turn his thoughts to other, less inflammatory things. Then Legolas shifted against him, brushing his thigh with a cock as alert as his own. Imrahil groaned helplessly and rolled onto his back as the elf climbed atop him. 

Exhausted as he was, it seemed that sleep would have to wait.


	5. Chapter 5

Why hadn't they locked the door?

The polished brass handle had yielded willingly to Gedrinel's touch, the heavy oak panel swinging back without protest on well greased hinges. Absorbed in his search for the missing logbook, Gedrinel hadn't thought to look inside the room until he was across the threshold, and by then it was too late. Aghast, he stayed rooted to the spot, quite unable to tear his eyes away from the sight before him.

There, leaning against the map table, stood Imrahil. The prince was utterly and unashamedly naked. Sweat glistened on his bronzed chest and tautly muscled abdomen. Wild chestnut hair hung about his shoulders and framed a face that was angled downwards, intent upon the figure kneeling at his feet.

Legolas had not disrobed. The fine linen of his shirtsleeves fell back to reveal sinuous wrists below the hands that splayed across the prince's hips, holding them firmly in place. Gedrinel was standing behind the elf and couldn't see exactly what he was doing, but the movement of the golden head, guided by Imrahil's fingers entangled in his hair, made it clear enough. 

He had to flee. His mind knew it, screamed out for it, but his body declined to obey. His eyes would not close, nor would his head turn to the side to shield him from the forbidden spectacle. His legs flatly refused to move. So he remained, and stared, only thankful for the fact that the lovers were too engrossed in their pleasure to be aware of him.

As Gedrinel watched in shocked fascination, the elf's fingers tightened their grasp and his head dipped a little lower. Imrahil let out a gasping cry that stopped the breath in the captain's throat. Then the prince's head lifted, exposing the raw ecstatic abandon written across his face, and Gedrinel felt that his heart might stop beating as well. Every groan, every tremor of the prince's tensed frame, seemed to strike a thundering chord in Gedrinel, setting his pulse racing furiously and scorching a flaming path from his lungs down to his groin.

Why was he so affected, when all he should feel was horrified embarrassment and fear of displeasing his beloved lord? Why couldn't he simply slip unnoticed from the cabin and pretend that the incident had never happened, erase these disturbing scenes from his brain? And why in the name of all the gods hadn't they locked the door?

Even as the questions ran through his mind the unthinkable happened. Imrahil opened his grey-green eyes and gazed directly at him. Gedrinel, incapable of flight, stared back at his monarch and waited for the inevitable outrage, the irate rebuke.

No such reprimand came. Instead, Imrahil moved a hand to the back of the elf's head, a protective gesture, or maybe just a means of ensuring that he didn't take his mouth away. The prince's eyes held Gedrinel's in a hypnotic stare as his face was transformed by a slow, amused smile. The captain knew then that the world had gone completely mad.

"Gedrinel, my loyal friend," said Imrahil. The words were rich with meaning.

Legolas stopped moving, but didn't attempt to rise from his position of amorous supplication. 

"Come, Gedrinel, come stand by me, here." The prince removed one hand from the elf's head and gestured to the space beside him. His voice, like his smile, was warm.

His head ringing with the impossibility of it, Gedrinel found himself walking to the prince's side. How it was happening, he had no idea. His conscious mind was certainly not in control of his movements. Nor would his mouth open to speak his protest. 

Close enough to his lord to smell the musk of his sweat, Gedrinel turned and dared to glance down. Bright blue eyes gazed back at him before the elf let his lashes drop to his pale cheeks as he returned to his task. The sight of Imrahil's sturdy cock disappearing between those perfect lips was near enough to finish Gedrinel. His mouth opened at last, but all that emerged was a strangled groan.

"Gedrinel." Imrahil placed a hand flat on the captain's chest. It seemed to burn through his clothing to the skin beneath. "My loyal captain. Do you not love me?"

With great difficulty, Gedrinel met the intense royal stare and forced the words out. "Yes, My Lord, you know that I love you."

"Then why has it taken you so long?" the prince asked sadly. 

Stricken by the question, Gedrinel stood mute, searching for a response. But even as he tried to understand, the prince's hand slid slowly down the captain’s body to settle over his aching, swollen cock. There was a moment's pause, then Imrahil smiled again, and curled his fingers into a firm grip.

This time Gedrinel cried out in earnest.

The shout was loud enough to rouse him, but it was a while before he could prise his eyes open. Even then, he lay bemused in the near-dark, wondering where he was. 

The bed was motionless; he must be on land. There was no sound of anyone else in the room, and the hand massaging his throbbing cock was, thankfully, none other than his own. As the details of the dream came back to him, even this activity ceased, and he lay consumed by shame, a burning flush searing his skin though there was none to see it.

For all his humiliation, his erection showed no sign of subsiding, and his heart continued to pound erratically. His head was filled with lead, but his body was on fire. He tried to breathe deeply, willing himself to calm down. What was happening to him? Had he lost his mind completely?

Somewhere outside the room a voice shouted out a few words in the language of the south, then broke into a laugh. Suddenly Gedrinel knew where he was, and remembered the strange drink he had taken before sleeping. Was that the cause of this alarming fever?

"Zirri?" The sound was little more than a croak from between parched lips.

"Zirri is not here." A strange voice. A man's voice. "She received a summons she could not ignore, and asked me to wait with you."

Gedrinel strained his eyes against the darkness. He could just make out a shadowy figure in the corner of the room.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Kallim." The shadow moved closer to the bed on silent feet. 

"Kallim?" Gedrinel echoed stupidly.

A throaty laugh. "No, like this, 'Kah-leem.'" 

"Oh." It was not a name Gedrinel knew. "And why are you here, Kallim?"

"As I told you; Zirri was called away unavoidably and she asked me to sit with you. The effects of the she'naya can be disconcerting the first time you take it. Here."

Out of the gloom a hand came towards him, proffering a goblet. Gedrinel took it thankfully and tried to move himself into a more upright position in order to drink. The effort this needed took him by surprise, and he would have fallen back, spilling the water, had Kallim not acted swiftly to prop him up with cushions behind his head. 

"Thank you." His voice was sounding more normal, and after draining the goblet his head began to clear. Only then did he start to wonder at the familiar tone adopted by the stranger at his side. "I have not met you before," he said suspiciously. "Are you a new servant in the household?"

"This is a large house. I would not expect you to have met all who live in it," the man replied.

"But why are you here, and not one of the girls, or Fadir, for example?"

"I think you should relax." It was a mesmerising voice, he realised, low and resonant. "Would Zirri have left you in my care if she did not trust me?" 

"At least let me see you. I have no desire to talk to a ghost." 

"As you wish." Now Kallim sounded distinctly amused. He moved away from the bed. A moment later Gedrinel heard the rasp of a tinderbox, and turned his head towards the faint glow. 

Kallim adjusted the lamp, then stepped away from it and spun around so that Gedrinel could see him properly. The captain gazed up at him in surprise. 

He was a young man, maybe twenty years, of medium height and build. His thick dark hair was pulled away from a smooth, striking face and secured at the back of his neck. A gold ring hung glittering from each neatly shaped ear. Skin that appeared a mellow golden brown in the lamplight emerged from a dark red outfit of loose trousers and a short robe, wrapped and tied at his waist. As Kallim came closer, it became obvious to Gedrinel's tutored eye that the clothes were made of a heavy, expensive silk.

"You are no servant!" the captain exclaimed.

"Did I say that I was?" The wide sensuous lips curved into a sardonic smile. Something about the expression was terribly familiar.

"You… are you and Zirri…?" Gedrinel stuttered.

"I am not her son, nor even her brother," Kallim replied, settling himself on the edge of the bed, rather too close for Gedrinel's peace of mind. "Though you would not be the first to think it. We do, however, hail from the same town." 

That much should have been clear from Kallim's speech. Just like the courtesan, he spoke beautifully fluent Westron, but with a strong and distinctive accent. His eyes had something of Zirri about them too, enormous dark pools that they were. This was a man, Gedrinel realised, who would have a dangerous effect on women.

Kallim was staring at him intently, his mouth still quirked with humour. Gedrinel had no idea what he was finding so funny, unless, of course, it was his own discomfort. The nearness of the other man was making him acutely aware of his fiercely persistent arousal. Surely it should have ebbed away by now? The cool water hadn't stopped the burning of his skin, and if he didn't do something about the pressure in his groin very soon, the damage might well be permanent. 

The captain took a deep breath. "I thank you for your concern," he said. "But would you leave me now? I need to, uh, rest."

The young man leant a little closer. Gedrinel could smell a rich, earthy perfume on him. 

"I came here to help you, Captain Gedrinel, and that is what I intend to do. I have taken the she'naya myself in the past. I know what it is that you need."

As if to make sure that Gedrinel could not misinterpret his words, Kallim placed a hand on the captain's chest in an unfortunate echo of his dream. This time there was no clothing to lessen the impact of the touch. Wiry hairs snagged between fingers that were surprisingly rough. 

The way his body responded - with a violent jerking of his cock and the sensation of leaking moisture on his belly - did nothing to lessen Gedrinel's panic.

"No!" he complained. He knew he should push Kallim away, but his arms were strangely reluctant to move from his sides. "It is not in my nature to want such a thing!"

"So you say, and yet your body cries out for it," Kallim replied smoothly. Instead of removing his hand, he started to stroke, firmly, in ever widening circles.

Gedrinel's pulse was already racing alarmingly, but when Kallim's thumb found a nipple and stayed there, rubbing and tweaking, he thought his heart might genuinely burst.

"Stop! You need to stop…." The protest sounded feeble, even to his own ears.

"Oh, but I don't think I do. Are you not painfully hard, Captain Gedrinel, and longing for some relief?" Kallim showed his teeth in a grin, then slowly ran his tongue across them. Gedrinel was so riveted to the sight, he did not notice the hand sliding down his body until the sheet was whisked away, leaving him quite exposed in all his lustful confusion.

In desperation, he tried another approach. "I’ve made no arrangement… I have nothing to give you…." Still his arms refused to move to push his tormentor away.

Kallim laughed heartily at the captain's attempt. "I said that I lived in this house. That does not mean that I work here."

"Then why…?"

Very slowly and deliberately, Kallim shifted his gaze from Gedrinel's face, down across his chest and to his groin. He let his eyes linger there for a while, his smile growing ever broader. There was nothing the captain could do to stop his erection straining upwards under the young man's scrutiny.

"Because I want to help you," Kallim said at last. "I want to take your lovely big cock in my mouth and suck on it until you explode down the back of my throat. I want to taste you, Gedrinel."

"Eru preserve my soul!" Gedrinel whispered. He closed his eyes and clutched the sheets between shaking fingers as Kallim bent down to match his words with action.

He could not have lasted long, had Kallim not known exactly where and how to apply the pressure needed to delay his release. For all his theoretical objections, he had never been so aroused in his life, and by the gods, the man had a talented mouth. If such an act with Zirri was a swirling tide of delight, with Kallim it was a raging torrent. There was nothing gentle or soothing about the young man's approach. From the tongue rasping across his balls to the teeth grazing their way up the underside of his rigid cock, every touch was calculated to drive him to the brink of insanity.

By the time the teasing stopped, Gedrinel no longer cared where he was, who was doing this to him, or why it had seemed like such a bad idea at the outset. Only one thing mattered to him now. At last he felt Kallim's mouth close around him, and he opened his eyes. Tears of frustration misted his vision as he looked down at the dark head moving back and forth, his own flesh vanishing and reappearing between those full lips. A broad masculine hand was pressing down against his skin, finger and thumb clamped cruelly around the base of his erection. 

There was no way that he could deny what was happening. The very life essence was being sucked out of him by another man, and he was close to swooning with the agonising pleasure of it. As something inside him finally accepted the fact, his self control gave way.

"Just get on and do it, damn you!" he yelled. "I can't take much more of this!"

Dark eyes flashed up at him momentarily, then Kallim slammed his head down, taking Gedrinel's cock deeper still. The powerful suction around him continued as the tight restraining grip eased, and Gedrinel screamed loudly enough to wake the whole city.

"Yes… ai, gods, yes!" Great juddering pulses ripped through him, lifting his hips clear of the bed. The intensity of the ache before had been nothing compared to this. 

Somehow Kallim stayed with him, clinging on with both hands and swallowing down spurt after spurt of fluid. He kept his place until at last Gedrinel lay spent, trembling and utterly numb. Only then did the younger man raise his head and shift himself up the bed to sit silently at its edge. After a while he reached for the water goblet and filled it from the pitcher on the night stand before offering it, wordlessly, to the captain.

Grateful for the silence as much as for the cooling drink, Gedrinel handed the goblet back with a nod. It was all he could manage; the rest of his body might well never move again. His mind was still struggling to comprehend what had happened, in spite of his urgent desire for sleep. 

"Who are you?" It was such an effort to form the words.

"Sleep now. There will be time enough for all that," Kallim replied softly. 

A finger pressed gently to his lips, and on it he caught the familiar scent of his own body. Then his eyes drifted closed, and for the time being he knew no more.

 

********************

 

"Captain Gedrinel?" 

He had not really been sleeping when the knock came at the door, but lying in the delicious state that comes after a long night of rest, before full consciousness takes over. As the girl called his name again, he opened his eyes and rolled onto his side.

"Come in."

The smell of strong fresh coffee entered the room first, closely followed by a small figure bearing a large tray.

"Ah, Nessya! Good morning." He pushed himself up on one arm and peered at the pretty young flautist. After the strangeness of the night it was a relief to see a familiar face.

"Good morning, Captain." She set her burden down on the night stand and rearranged the dishes and plates. Gedrinel looked on in approval. A bowl of creamy curds, some carefully prepared fruit and a few small pastries. He had never had the stomach for the heavy breakfast of beans and oil favoured by the locals themselves, not when the weather was as hot as this. 

It was astonishing that he was hungry at all, given the circumstances. But in spite of the horde of confused questions rampaging around in his brain, he felt physically fine, even sprightly. The she'naya must have done its work, after all.

Nessya poured the coffee and handed the tiny cup to him with a shy smile.

"Thank you, my dear. Ah, that is good." He drank the bitter, enlivening fluid down in one gulp, and handed his cup back for more. "Nessya, tell me, is Zirri here? I would very much like to speak with her."

The girl frowned. "No, Captain. My mistress has engagements this morning, I'm afraid."

It was no great surprise. In all the years Gedrinel had known her, he had fallen asleep with Zirri in his arms many times, but had never once woken in daylight to find her at his side. He supposed it to be a necessary distance on her part. She may make herself available to her clients by arrangement, but she remained her own woman. It was a condition he respected, and he would not normally dream of overstepping the mark and asking for more.  
This morning, however, was anything but normal. Had Zirri been available, he would have insisted on seeing her. As it was, he would have to look elsewhere for the answers to his questions.

"And Kallim?" he asked hesitantly. 

Nessya dimpled charmingly at the sound of the youth’s name. "Master Kallim is not here either," she said. "He is out in the city. There is much business for him to attend to."

Much business? Gedrinel would not allow himself to speculate as to its nature. Of course the man wasn't here. A simple explanation in the light of day would have been too much to ask for. At least by her response he knew that the whole thing wasn't just a creation of his she'naya-fevered mind. 

On the other hand, perhaps that would have been easier to accept.

"When will he be back?" he enquired.

"Oh, I really couldn't say… I don't serve Master Kallim myself."

"No, of course not." 

"But my mistress did ask me to tell you that if you wish to visit tonight, it would be best to come at sundown."

"Thank you, Nessya. You may tell Zirri to expect me."

Nessya curtsied and waited for his nod. Then she quietly withdrew from the chamber, leaving Gedrinel to his breakfast and his thoughts.

 

********************

 

It was all the fault of the she'naya. What other explanation could there be? In forty-one years he had never looked on another man with lust; why should he find his very nature changing now, at this stage in his life? The same phrases had run through his mind many times since the morning, even though he had been far from idle. 

After a brief visit to the Lynx to check on the progress of repair and maintenance work, Gedrinel had spent much of the day amongst the local merchants. He had supervised the offloading of fine wool and gemstones from the north, and had arranged for delivery of copperware and spices to carry home. They were small cargoes suitable for a fast, light ship, but enough to make the journey worthwhile even without Imrahil's generous patronage.

In the course of his dealings he had drunk more lemon tea than he should, and had even smoked a sweet water pipe out of politeness to one of his hosts. As usual he'd enjoyed the experience at the time, but regretted it half an hour later. He could still feel the scratchiness at the back of his throat. 

Gedrinel would always be a sea captain first and a trader second, but a day like this one was no hardship to him. With their quick minds and polished manners, the local men of business were diverting companions. Along with the keen thrill of striking a good deal there was the more subtle pleasure of exchanging gossip and opinion, never directly, but via discreet conversational routes. It had taken him some years to feel at ease with these long circuitous discussions. Nowadays they were an entertainment in their own right.

So he had learned that the mood in Umbar on the eve of the council was cautiously optimistic. Imrahil's presence was appreciated, though one or two questioned why the King himself had not made the journey. Nobody was expecting any sweeping changes in the near future, but since Brenhir was widely regarded as a fair and decent governor, this was not a cause for great distress. 

There had been so much to talk about, he had barely had time to let his thoughts stray. Yet, whenever there had been a moment in between visits or while his host was temporarily called away, he had returned to the same questions, the same anxieties, the same acutely disturbing images. Revisiting the problem had not lessened it in the slightest. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he only had to picture that dark head bent over him and he was uncomfortably aroused all over again.

It had to be the fault of the she'naya. Gedrinel curled his hands into fists at his sides and spoke the words under his breath, like a charm. He attempted to ignore the sly persistent voice that came after: so that is why you have rushed to this door and stand here like a fool with your heart in your mouth, too terrified to knock?

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. He had to find out why Zirri had engineered such a thing, and, at the very least, who the man was who had caused him all this confusion. It did not mean any more than that. Momentarily strengthened, he straightened his back and lifted a hand to the door.

Zirri was sitting by the fountain, calmly beautiful as ever. She rose to greet him with a smile as he came through the arch.

"Gedrinel! What a pleasure. Come, join me, and let me call for something to drink."

The captain stood before her, troubled, and did not take the seat she had indicated. "I come seeking answers, not pleasure, this evening," he said.

"Then you may ask me your questions, but please do so sitting down," she replied, reaching for his hand and pulling him gently to the bench beside her.

Gedrinel swallowed hard. "Why did you do it, Zirri?" he began.

"Do what, my friend?" her expression was ingenuous.

"Why did you leave me like that with… with Kallim?"

Zirri sighed. "I had no wish to abandon you," she said softly. "but there are those in this city who may not be ignored, as you know. When they summon me I must come, if I wish for my pleasant life here to remain undisturbed."

Gedrinel nodded silently, chastened by this reminder of her precarious situation.

"I could not leave you alone after taking the she'naya. Although it is always beneficial in the long term, the effects can be somewhat violent as the healing process starts. I thought it best to ask someone to sit with you, someone who had used the herb himself and knew what to expect."

"But you knew! You knew that he, that he was…" His outburst tailed off quickly as he realised he did not know how to continue.

"I knew that he is a lover of men, yes. I think no less of him for it, and nor should you."

"But…." It was hopeless. He simply could not force himself to say it.

"Kallim would not have done anything without your consent," Zirri said, very quietly. "Somewhere inside yourself you must have wanted it."

Gedrinel stared at her, unable to deny the truth of her words, but equally incapable of acknowledging it. "Who is he?" he whispered at last. "How does he come to be here?"

"He did not tell you?" Her smile was radiant, forgiving. "Then I think those are questions you should put to Kallim himself. He is through there." She gestured to the long colonnade on the far side of the courtyard, the private rooms where Zirri's visitors did not go. "You will find him in the chamber at the far end, if you wish to see him now."

Still gazing at Zirri, Gedrinel got to his feet. His legs felt unsteady, as if he'd just disembarked on a stormy night. "I don't know what to say to you," he mumbled.

"There is no need for you to say anything at all," Zirri replied promptly. 

The smile he gave her was uncertain. "Very well." He glanced towards the shaded corner, but did not move.

"Gedrinel, do you trust me?" Zirri asked, stretching out to brush the back of his wrist with her fingers. 

"Absolutely. You know I do."

"Then believe me when I say that you can trust him."

He clasped her hand briefly. "Thank you."

At the door to Kallim's chamber he hesitated again. What was he hoping to gain from this encounter? Would it not have been better to drop the matter, pretend it had never happened? Tempting as the prospect might be, he knew that something had taken place which he could never forget. If he failed to resolve the issue now, it would haunt him always. 

Feigning a confidence he did not feel, he knocked twice, rather too loudly.

"Menaa ya’alen?" Kallim called from within. Why did his voice sound as if he was on the point of laughter, once again? To his shame, Gedrinel felt his cock stir in response. Trying to ignore it, he quickly announced himself before his confidence could desert him completely.

"Ah, Captain Gedrinel! Come in, please."

The chamber was large, cool and rather gloomy, having long shutters on the far side to block out the sun. It was furnished sparely, with heavy dark wooden pieces that spoke of quality. An enormous bed dominated the left wall, an equally oversized mirror the right. Between them the marble floor was softened by a huge woven rug in shades of red and grey. 

Kallim was on the rug, facing away from Gedrinel. Balanced on his palms and his toes, his body extended into a perfectly straight line, he was working his arms through a series of rapid dips and raises. Loose white trousers draped over his taut rear and legs, but otherwise he was naked. His thick tail of black hair hung over one shoulder. Drops of sweat quivered on the smooth dusky skin of his back.

Gedrinel stood at the door, speechless, and counted twenty dips before Kallim paused on straightened arms to say, "Forgive me if I finish. I don’t have many more to do." His voice was casual, conversational, and gave no sign that he was exerting himself in any way.

A further thirty movements followed, with the captain's eyes glued to every one. Whatever he had expected, it was not this. 

Eventually Kallim sprang to his feet and crossed the room to retrieve a towel. With his back to Gedrinel, he rubbed his torso down briskly, untied his hair and shook it behind his shoulders, then turned to his visitor. The white towel hung around his neck like a scarf, partially obscuring his chest, but what Gedrinel could see was impressive. The trousers were tied low on his hips, displaying the rippling muscle of his abdomen and the thin trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. 

As Kallim strode towards him, smiling, Gedrinel spoke the first coherent thought that came into his mind. 

"You have the body of a warrior." 

The smile became a broad grin. "And I work hard for it," the young man said. "It surprises you. Why? You think because I do not desire women, I should resemble one? I have no use for such softness in my lovers; why should they seek it in me?"

Gedrinel could think of nothing to say, so he kept quiet. Then he felt his mouth fall open as Kallim, now leaning against the bureau no more than half a dozen paces from him, slid the towel from his neck and threw it to the bed.

His chest was smooth, the muscles well defined. His nipples were perfect dark brown circles, and from each hung a small gold ring, matching those in his ears. Gedrinel had heard that some southern tribes practised such bodily adornment, but he had never actually seen it. It was quite impossible to tear his eyes away.

"Why would you… does it not hurt?" he blurted out, and immediately cursed himself for his lack of sophistication. 

Kallim laughed, and ran his hands slowly down over his chest, thumbs dragging behind, to rest them finally on his hips. Gedrinel's cock, already full and firm, stood to attention in his breeches.

"They draw the eye, do they not? Good enough reason to have them there. The initial insertion was painful, it’s true; I had to steep myself in liquor to bear it. But it was a small price to pay for the pleasurable sensations they afford me now."

Gedrinel felt somewhat faint. Afraid of what he might say, he kept his mouth shut.

"You like what you see, do you not?" Kallim asked bluntly. "Do you wish to touch?"

"Touch? No… I cannot…."

Kallim shrugged theatrically. "Then I hope you’ll forgive me if I do," he said cheerfully, sliding a hand across his own belly, fingers working their way under the low waistband. "The exercise always leaves me desperate for it."

"I should leave," Gedrinel said, groping behind him for the door handle. 

"Better that you stay." 

As Kallim pushed his trousers down over his hips, Gedrinel felt a wave of dizzy excitement, almost nausea, wash over him. Despite his noble words, it was clear that he wasn't going anywhere. Defeated, he stared openly at the younger man's erection, emerging with a proud upward curve from the plentiful black curls at its base. The flesh was a darkish brown, except for the tantalisingly exposed plum-coloured head. A head which Kallim was busily smearing with the fluid seeping from its tip. 

The captain leaned back against the door, fearful that his legs might fail him. 

"I have been longing to do this all day," said Kallim wickedly, wrapping his hand loosely around his shaft and sliding it back and forth in long, lazy strokes, "every time I thought about how your cock felt in my mouth. But I made myself wait…." 

"For me?" The words were out before he could stop them.

"For you, yes." 

Gedrinel could stand it no longer. Abandoning the relative safety of the doorway, he lunged towards Kallim. One hand grasped the young man's shoulder, the other pushed Kallim's fingers out of the way and closed around his hot, slippery cock.

"Yes," Kallim said, bracing his arms against the bureau and pushing his hips forward. "Yes, like that."

They did not speak for a while, as Gedrinel established a slow firm rhythm and Kallim rocked to meet him on each stroke. But when the captain's fingers dropped down to brush across a tight nipple, first flicking against the ring of gold, then tugging on it gently, experimentally, the whole tone of the encounter changed.

Kallim's head fell back and his self-assured amusement vanished. "Harder!" he cried, thrusting erratically into Gedrinel's hand. "Yes, harder, faster! Make me… ahh…" 

Gedrinel was gripping the young man's cock so tightly, rubbing so hard, it must have been excruciating. He was barely able to breathe, himself. As Kallim tensed and cried out again, he pointed the swollen purple head upwards and back, and watched in a state of excitement that bordered on pain as streaks of sticky fluid landed on smooth brown skin.

Kallim's heaving chest, semen-splattered and hung with gold, was without doubt the most erotic sight the captain had ever seen. Suddenly, he knew what he had to do to make it even more so. His hands were shaking so much, it took him a moment to get his cock out of his breeches. Once he held its stiff length in his palm, however, instinct took over. He worked it furiously, desperate to reach his own climax.

"Fuck, yes, come all over me," Kallim groaned. 

Gedrinel gazed at the wanton, near-naked youth before him and did exactly that. He clutched Kallim’s shoulder and leaned in towards him, milking his cock relentlessly. Open mouthed and breathless, he watched as his semen splashed across the hairless chest and dripped thickly down over an erect, pierced nipple. When Kallim raised a hand to rub the fluid into his own skin, Gedrinel thought he might pass out. Shouting aloud with the blazing pleasure of it, he half fell to the side, coming to rest with a thud against the bureau.

"I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me," Kallim whispered, a little later. His voice was dark and intimate, close to Gedrinel's ear.

The captain gave a final shudder and was still, breathing hard. After a while he realised that a ridge of carved wood was digging a welt into his hip. He opened bleary eyes, clutched at the front of his gaping breeches, then staggered to the bed and sat himself down somewhat gingerly. 

Kallim regarded him in silence for a moment before crossing the room to one of the high cupboards by the window. Pulling out a towel, he rolled it up and threw it to land within Gedrinel's reach. Then he poured water into a small bowl which he brought to set at the captain's feet before returning to the table to wash himself. 

The cool water felt so good against Gedrinel's heated, sweaty skin. "I have never before even imagined doing such a thing," he said incredulously, once he trusted himself to speak.

"It doesn’t have to cause you anxiety," replied Kallim, speaking into the mirror. "Just view it as something that you do when you feel the need. You itch, you scratch, you forget it until the next time. When you are ready for more, you can tell me."

Gedrinel had to smile at the impeccable logic of youth. "How old are you?" he asked suddenly.

"Nineteen."

"Then I am more than twice your age," said Gedrinel, horrified.

Kallim finished with the towel and threw it down before turning back to him. "Yes," he smiled, "From your beard to your boots, you are a man, not a boy - and a masterful captain at that. You have the taste of sea-salt about you, and you walk with the swagger of a sailor. Zirri should be grateful that I’ve kept my hands off you until now."

Gedrinel leaned back on his outstretched arms and frowned at his enigmatic companion. "Who are you?" he said, "and how do you come to be living here?"

Kallim stared at him for a while, then came to sit beside him, not too close. "I am Kallim Almajarram, from the town of Hammeyet in the south east," he said gravely. "My resemblance to Zirri is no coincidence, as my mother is her older sister. When I was forced to leave my family home two years ago, it was only logical that I should come here. It suits us both that I continue to live in Zirri's house."

"You’ve been here all this time, and I have never seen you?" There were a dozen other questions he could ask, but they would have to wait.

"In a household such as this one, discretion is more necessity than virtue. Believe me, I have seen you, but I would never have shown myself, had Zirri not given me permission to do so."

This felt like dangerous ground, so Gedrinel steered the conversation elsewhere. "You live here, but you don’t work?"

"In a manner of speaking, I do." Kallim gave a short bark of laughter.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, not without some trepidation.

"I trade," the young man replied simply. "I didn’t leave my father's house empty-handed. Southern gold commands a high price, as you know. The trinkets I brought with me were enough to set me up, and I have maintained some useful contacts in the villages near my home. Some of your merchant friends have dealings with me."

"I had thought, from the look of you, that you must be engaged in some more physical endeavour." That broad chest, those roughened palms were not the signature of a businessman.

"I train with the young knights of the city, two or three times a week in a gymnasium not far from here. It pays to have useful family connections." Kallim eyed him thoughtfully, then gave a mischievous smile. "You could come with me if you wanted. You shouldn’t let those long weeks at sea soften you."

"Soften me? Hah! I could flatten you in a wrestling ring," Gedrinel snorted.

"And there is a tempting thought. But one for another time, unfortunately. I have to prepare myself to go out very shortly."

"Out?"

"Yes, to the Goldsmiths' Quarter. The great Dilyenna is dancing there tonight, and she only works with the best musicians. It would be a crime to miss her." The young man rose from the bed and stretched his arms above his head with a long sighing yawn. He looked back over his shoulder at Gedrinel. "Would you like to come with me?" he asked, almost too casually.

Gedrinel contemplated the prospect for a moment. The Goldsmiths' Quarter was not a place where he would venture alone after nightfall, and none of his more conventional friends had ever made such an offer. He'd probably be insane to accept this one. Only the Valar knew what kind of trouble Kallim was likely to lead him into. It could be the end of him. It would be far more sensible to go back to the ship, perhaps spend the night in his cabin going over some accounts.

He felt his face break into a grin for what seemed like the first time in an age. What was he thinking of? He wasn't a feeble old man, not just yet. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I'll come with you."

Kallim turned from the mirror, his hands still in his hair, and matched Gedrinel's grin with one of his own. "Good." He ran his tongue across his lips suggestively. "We’ll go and find something to eat first," he added. "It could be a very long night."


	6. Chapter 6

“If I eat another pastry, or drink any more of this wine, I will surely burst.” Imrahil sidled up behind Legolas and spoke in an undertone, close to his ear.

“That would be unfortunate,” replied the elf, straight-faced. “It would ruin the governor’s party, not to mention interfering with my plans for the evening.”

Imrahil’s witty response died on his lips as he noticed the group of revellers heading their way. Predictably, they were not to be left alone. This lot were expatriate Gondorians, young men of good family in the service of the governor, by the looks of them. The prince sighed and attempted to fix a smile in place. Brenhir’s decision to end the three days of ceremony with an informal gathering for his household and staff was entirely laudable, but by this stage the revelry was wearing a little thin. 

The men introduced themselves with appropriate deference and a conversation began. Imrahil behaved in as pleasantly noncommittal a fashion as he could, while Legolas was delightfully entertaining, as ever. The Gondorians would probably have stayed all night to talk to him, had one of them not been called away by a pretty young woman. Luckily, the others chose to follow their friend, leaving the guests of honour to step back into the shadow of a marble column.

Despite his fear of over-indulgence, Imrahil took a hearty swig of wine. “How do you do it?” he challenged his lover.

“Do what, my prince?” 

“How do you always remain so calm, so charming, no matter how trying the circumstances?”

Legolas laughed a little. “I would hardly call these circumstances trying. Compared to a battalion of orcs, the present company is positively convivial.”

“You know what I mean,” Imrahil persisted. “How do you do it?”

“I believe I may have what is termed a natural advantage,” his lover said archly.

“You are an elf, I am aware of that, but you can still tell me how it is done. Perhaps I could learn from you.” The Valar knew, he needed some help.

The elf considered for a moment before replying, “I simply allocate as small a part of my mind to the present occasion as is strictly necessary. With the rest, I concentrate on more… pleasant things.”

“More pleasant?” Imrahil leered.

“Indeed.” Legolas chose to ignore the innuendo.

“Not more… exciting?” He reached to place his goblet on the table behind the elf, brushing deliberately against a blue-clad thigh as he did so.

“That is also possible.” 

This was a line of conversation worth pursuing. Unfortunately, before Imrahil could suggest a few more exciting things for the elf to concentrate on, they were accosted by another group, two of Brenhir’s local advisors and their wives. These were intelligent and gracious people, and in other circumstances Imrahil would have enjoyed their company. His lack of patience did him no credit, he knew, but with Legolas standing so close he was terribly aware of the fact that there were better things to be doing at this time of night.

After a few minutes of polite formulaic conversation they were left alone once more. A pair of musicians had begun to play in the next room, and the advisors and their wives followed the general drift in that direction. There were still plenty of other guests dotted around the great table, but none, for the moment, seemed interested in the visitors from the north. 

Imrahil saw his chance.

Judging the nearest group to be just out of earshot, he moved slightly closer to the elf and spoke in Sindarin for good measure. “Later on I am going to take you out into the garden and fuck you under the jasmine,” he said in a low voice. “They will all be so inebriated by then, nobody will find us.”

Legolas did not react, except to nod at a passing courtier and then to accept a fresh glass of wine from a servant. Well, if he wanted to pretend he was not interested, Imrahil would have to raise the stakes. He suppressed a grin.

“In fact, I may not fuck you at all. Maybe I will tie you to the wall, your arms and legs outstretched, quite naked, naturally. I will tease you with my tongue until you are pleading for your release… and then I will leave you there in solitary torment until the morning. I wonder, how will you make yourself come if you are not even able to touch yourself?”

“You wish to see me suffer?” Legolas asked coolly, his eyes still scanning the room.

“You would do it so very beautifully,” Imrahil replied. “I could bring myself to pleasure a dozen times over, picturing you so helplessly displayed.”

It was a mistake, of course, to play such games with an elf. While Imrahil was becoming quite painfully aroused by his own words, Legolas’s placid demeanour remained utterly unshaken. He simply blinked once, then turned to the prince with a distinctly haughty expression.

“You have a wicked mind, Prince Imrahil, quite shockingly wicked,” he said. “Perhaps I should chastise you for your reprehensible thoughts. Yes, indeed… that is what I shall do. After we finish here, you will come to my chambers and lie across my thighs while I spank you. I believe it to be the custom of your people, barbaric as it seems.”

Imrahil had to tell himself to close his mouth and breathe through his nose. Why was it that he, seventy-three years old and head of a royal household, was so unbearably excited by the thought of being thrown across his lover’s lap and punished like a child?

The question hardly needed to be asked. This was Legolas, after all. If the elf wanted to truss him up like a chicken and submerge him in a vat of cold tea, Imrahil would agree with enthusiasm and enjoy the experience to the full. It was no great surprise that the prospect of a spanking at his lover’s hands was a most erotic notion. 

Still, he should attempt to show some spirit.

“You would not do it,” he pronounced.

“Do you challenge me, Prince of Belfalas?”

“My wicked elf,” Imrahil said fondly.

“Ah, you still believe that I do not mean what I say, that I speak only to titillate you. Perhaps tomorrow, when your backside is so sore that you cannot sit still for five minutes, you will know better than to doubt me.” 

Only then did Imrahil realise that he was in serious trouble. “And what if I do not consent to such treatment?” he asked gamely.

“You will.” 

Legolas curled his lips into a smile that made Imrahil’s blood run cold as ice, then hot as the flames of Mordor. He knew that the elf was absolutely right. Should he demand that Imrahil strip naked and dance on the tables for all of Umbar society to see, the prince would not be able to refuse. It was well that his lover was possessed of such a noble soul, for all his playful naughtiness. If Legolas ever decided to abuse his power the effects would be catastrophic.

The last thing he wanted to see at that moment was the portly figure of Farongil, hurrying in their direction with a look of determination on his face. Imrahil sighed, trying to be thankful for the dampening of the fire in his loins. Perhaps tonight would be the night. So far the governor’s son had made no proclamation to Legolas, but it was going to happen sooner or later, of that Imrahil was sure. He knew with even greater certainty that he did not want to be there to hear it. 

Glancing round the room, he caught sight of Brenhir on the other side of the table. Now would be an excellent moment to raise a glass with his host. After a few words with the pasty-faced youngster for courtesy’s sake, he excused himself and strode across to the governor’s side without a shred of guilt. The elf had charmed himself into this situation, after all; he was more than capable of finding his way out of it.

“An excellent party, Brenhir, my friend,” Imrahil announced cheerfully, clasping the governor’s arm.

Brenhir snorted. “Bloody rubbish!” he said shortly. “I bet you’re longing for me to bang the gong and send them all packing. Feel the same way, myself. Still, it has to be done, eh? Keeping them happy, and all that.”

Imrahil grinned. The man was a breath of fresh air after all the careful diplomacy of the last three days. “All in all, I would say that everything is going very well,” he said, lowering his voice.

Brenhir looked at him through narrowed eyes and nodded. Dropping the bluff manner, he answered quietly, “Better than I could have hoped, in fact. Not a whisper of dissent, and reports from the south say it’s entirely quiet. Of course, only time will tell, but I have to admit I’m optimistic. As far as the investiture itself goes, your presence was a big help, and bringing your elf was a stroke of genius.”

Imrahil glanced at him sharply, rapidly deciding not to pursue the implications of the comment. Brenhir was as shrewd a man as he had ever met. Of course he understood the nature of the prince’s relationship with Legolas. He would take it for granted that Imrahil expected no less.

“The credit goes to you,” he said. “If the people were not happy with your leadership, there would be little chance of this arrangement working. You have done a fine job here, Brenhir.”

“I do my best,” the viceroy said modestly. “They were ready for peace, you know. Not really a warlike people at heart. They’ve been doing what they had to do to survive under occupation for centuries. Take that away and a whole different scenario emerges. It’s all about commerce for them, when you get down to it.”

“King Elessar seems to understand that.”

“Aye, he does. He couldn’t have done better than opening up the trade routes and lowering the taxes. He won’t find a great deal of opposition here. Of course, there are one or two minor warlords still holed up in the south, but we’ll break their power eventually. Slowly does it, that’s all.”

The south. Even the word was enough set Imrahil’s heart racing. “How safe is it to travel there? In the south, that is?” he asked eagerly. 

“As far as our villa, it’s perfectly safe,” Brenhir replied. “If you want to go further than that, off to the oases and the great Sea of Sand itself, you’ll need to be careful.”

“Bandits?”

“And snakes and worse,” the viceroy laughed. “Yes, there are still bandits around. We’ve cleared the big gangs out, of course. That was in everyone’s interest; we had plenty of cooperation from the villagers once they saw we meant business. Now it’s just the small scale operations, and they don’t try anything too spectacular for fear of being wiped out themselves. With a few good armed men, you’d be safe enough.”

“Legolas himself is worth a few good armed men,” mused Imrahil.

“You’re not thinking of setting off with just the two of you?” Brenhir asked incredulously. “I couldn’t endorse that. I can quite see you don’t want a whole platoon tramping around with you, but you’d need a couple of reliable guards, at least.” 

“Then I will take your advice,” Imrahil said smoothly, privately wondering where such men might be found, men whose presence would not ruin the whole spirit of the adventure.

“Have you talked to Meh’ten yet?” Brenhir was saying. “No, I don’t suppose you have, he’s been hellishly busy this last few days. I tell you what, I’ll send him to you tomorrow, after lunch, and you can look over the maps with him and suchlike. Very clever fellow, Meh’ten. He came up from that area five or six years ago, but he’ll still be able to tell you what’s safe and what isn’t.”

“I shall look forward to speaking with him tomorrow.” Imrahil smiled warmly at his host.

“Right then,” said Brenhir briskly. “Now, are you going to rescue your friend from my infatuated son, or do I have to do it myself, eh?”

The prince chuckled delightedly. “I say we tackle this situation together,” he replied.

 

********************

 

“Unfasten your breeches.”

So it had really come to this. For a moment Imrahil stood paralysed, unsure whether to laugh or to run from the room. In the end he did neither, instead taking a deep breath and forcing his hands to steady themselves and act on his lover’s command. There was something about Legolas’s voice that made disobedience impossible.

The elf was sitting very still on the edge of the bed, watching him with enormous eyes. He had taken off his shirt but not his leggings. The perfect ivory of his chest gleamed softly in the lamplight. Imrahil glanced at the smooth, tight muscle of the archer’s arms, and promptly had to look away. When he thought what those hands were about to do, his nerve came close to failing him.

His fumbling fingers eventually pulled the ties loose, and he hooked his thumbs into his waistband. “Shall I take them off?” he asked uncertainly.

“No. Come here.”

This time he did as he was told quickly, before he had time to think about it. As he stood at Legolas’s side, anxiously awaiting his next instruction, he felt like a wayward youngster expecting a reprimand.

Legolas placed a warm hand on Imrahil’s rear and held it there as he spoke. 

“You understand what I am going to do to you?” His voice was pleasant, neutral.

“Yes.” 

“Tell me. Tell me what I am about to do.”

Imrahil swallowed his surprise. “You are about to put me across your lap and spank me like an errant child,” he said. He could feel the flush on his face.

Legolas exhaled sharply in what could almost be called a laugh. “Like a human child,” he said. “No elf was ever treated thus.”

“Of course.” 

“And do you give me your consent?” Legolas asked, his eyes burning into Imrahil’s. 

There was a long pause. The prince could not even begin to analyse the thoughts rushing through his head. All he knew for certain was that his overpowering lust would not let him back down now. “Yes,” he muttered at last, staring at the floor.

“If you change your mind, you have only to say, ‘Stop,’ and I will hear you,” Legolas said softly. 

Imrahil nodded.

The hand on his backside moved to his waistband and worked around it, pulling the breeches down to mid-thigh. Imrahil’s overheated erection sprang free. That part of him, at least, seemed to have no doubts about this game. 

“Good. Now, lie down across my legs, here, arms out in front of you,” the elf said.

Imrahil got himself into position with some difficulty. The breeches bunched around his thighs complicated the manoeuvre and contrived to make him feel more exposed than if they had been removed completely. Undoubtedly that was the elf’s intention. With his elbows and knees resting on the bed and his toes hanging over the edge, the prince pressed his face into the cotton coverlet to hide his embarrassment. His raised rump felt utterly vulnerable, and his cock, trapped between the elf’s firm muscles and his own belly, was already aching.

For a while Legolas simply rubbed his hand across Imrahil’s buttocks in a circling motion. The touch might almost have been called soothing, had the prince not been so desperately aroused.

“You have such a beautiful backside,” the elf said amiably. “It never fails to inspire wicked thoughts in me. But not quite as wicked as those for which you are paying now.”

The first blow landed as Legolas finished speaking. It was the shock, rather than the pain, that made Imrahil cry out. 

At first the slaps merely stung. Legolas was not really hitting him hard, and the sound was more alarming than the discomfort. Every time the elf’s hand fell, Imrahil’s hips were driven forward a little, his cock rubbing deliciously against his lover’s leg. If this was punishment, he could learn to enjoy it.

Gradually, however, matters changed. Perhaps Legolas was applying more force, or maybe the blows hurt more because the flesh was already smarting. In either case, a hot, prickly sensation was spreading across his buttocks, and he was trying, unsuccessfully, to wriggle out of the way of the rhythmic assault. All the while his cock was making urgent demands that he was in no position to meet.

Imrahil let out an agonised groan as his dilemma became clear to him. Each slap was quite enough to add to the throbbing pain, but not sufficient to push him any closer to his climax. If this carried on much longer, his arse would be raw and he would be driven utterly insane with unfulfilled need. 

Why could he not simply tell the elf to stop?

At last he pushed himself up on his elbows. “How many more?” he gasped.

“I intend to continue until you come for me, my wicked prince,” his lover replied.

“Gods!” He tried to roll himself over towards Legolas, to shift his arm down and get a grip on his bursting cock.

At once, hands on his wrist and hip pushed him back into place. Another two stinging slaps followed.

“Let me touch myself,” the man pleaded.

“No,” the elf said firmly. “I want to watch you find another way to do it.”

Imrahil thought he might actually weep with frustration. The ache in his groin was by now more urgent even than the stinging fire across his backside, fuelled by a regular peppering of light, glancing smacks. Still he could not bring himself to tell the elf to stop. There was nothing else to do but obey him.

So it was that the prince of Belfalas struggled to find his release, writhing and thrusting against his lover’s thighs, beyond shame or caution. It was no easy task; even when he thought he had found the right position, it seemed to take an age. He was vaguely aware of his own cries growing louder with every desperate lunge, with every touch of Legolas’s hand. By the end of it he was simply wailing like an animal in distress. 

Just as he felt he could bear it all no longer, the elf slid two, perhaps three, hot fingers down between his buttocks and pushed them ruthlessly inside him.

“Merciful Valar!” Imrahil screamed, as his orgasm threatened to tear him apart. He came in a series of deep, shuddering spasms, the pleasure so acute it was almost intolerable.

It was some time before he could separate the various sensations: the warm aftermath in his groin, the ache in his thighs, the raw tingling of his buttocks. He must have drifted away for a while. When he consciously remembered what had just taken place, another jolt passed through him, and then he lay still.

Legolas was stroking his hair, waiting for him.

“By the gods,” Imrahil mumbled into the covers, “I have never felt anything like that. This time I really thought you might kill me.”

“I have not finished yet.” The elf’s voice had lost its tone of detached neutrality. His hand brushed gently across the over-sensitive flesh of Imrahil’s rear. 

The man flinched.

“I want so much to feel this heat around me,” Legolas continued. “Can you bear it?”

Imrahil groaned as the waves of lust rippled through him again. He was far beyond caring about such minor details as physical discomfort.

“Just do it,” he said fiercely.

 

********************

 

“Did you enjoy it?” Imrahil asked, stroking his thumb across the elf’s knuckles. The night had become quite uncomfortably hot, as there was next to no air movement in the chamber. Much as he wanted to be close to his lover, for the moment he was content to lie face down and spread-eagled on the damp sheets, lightly holding Legolas’s hand. 

“I shared your pleasure,” the elf said softly. “Enjoyment is hardly an adequate term for the intensity of it.”

“Mmm. But the spanking itself?” 

There was a pause before Legolas replied. He sounded troubled. “I would not wish to derive satisfaction from the mere fact of causing you pain.”

“Yet it was your idea, this game,” the prince said wonderingly.

The elf let out a gentle sigh. “At first I thought only to tease you with challenging words,” he said. “But when I perceived how aroused you were by the notion… it seemed to be your desire.”

“And so it was, though I could never have foreseen it.”

They lay silently for a time.

“It is not a game I would wish to play too often,” Legolas said at last. 

Imrahil could sense the elf’s anxiety, like a faint humming at the back of his brain. He shuffled across the bed and pressed his lips to his lover’s hand. “Tell me what is on your mind,” he murmured.

Legolas seemed to be having difficulty finding his words. “I know that there are many times when the boundary between pleasure and pain is less than distinct,” he said slowly. “That is not the cause of my disquiet. It is rather… Imrahil, you must know that I feel only love and respect for you. I could not bear for you to think otherwise.”

Rumpled sheets moved with the prince as he shifted closer to the elf. Heat or no heat, he had to touch his lover. 

“I could never doubt you, no matter what strange diversions we conjure up between us,” he said. He lowered his head and kissed Legolas softly, his tongue barely brushing across the elf’s lips. 

Legolas slid an arm down his sweat-dampened back and pulled him closer still. In the quiet of that unguarded moment, Imrahil felt the elf’s spirit touch him, and he understood.

“You did enjoy it,” he whispered. 

He felt the hand on his back curl into a fist.

“There is no shame in it,” Imrahil continued quickly. “Do you imagine that if our positions were reversed, and you were spread so shamelessly across my lap, I would be unmoved by desire? It is only natural.”

“But to become aroused through the act of inflicting pain on those we love?” Legolas said, “If it is natural, it is hardly a pleasant trait.”

The prince ran soothing fingers across the elf’s forehead. “I do not think it is about the pain, as such,” he said slowly. “To see another willingly relinquishing control, to place one’s trust so fully in one’s lover… I do not know why, but it seems to touch something deep within.” 

“Perhaps you are right.”

Imrahil bent down and bit the elf’s shoulder, very gently. “Believe me, you must feel no guilt for bringing me such pleasure as I have known this night. But I will not ask it of you again, if it troubles you.”

Legolas sighed, and unclenched his fist to stroke Imrahil’s back. “Sometimes loving a man is a most bewildering experience,” he said.

Imrahil’s heart lurched painfully. “Would you say, on balance, that the experience is worth the bewilderment?” he enquired tentatively.

“Do not ask such a question, even in jest,” the elf replied, clutching the prince to him. “You know what you mean to me.”

“Mmm.” He tried to agree, but it was difficult to speak while being kissed so passionately.

It took some time for Imrahil to convince himself that the elf was fully reassured. Luckily it was not an unpleasant task, in spite of the stifling heat. Finally they lay face to face, fingers loosely entwined, chestnut hair tangled with soft golden tresses across the pillows. The gap between their bodies was only for comfort’s sake.

“I spoke to Brenhir about the journey south, this evening,” Imrahil said sleepily.

“What did he have to say?”

“That we should take at least two men to guard us, if we set out from his villa into the desert.”

“And with that I wholly concur. Perhaps you will listen to the governor, where you would ignore your lover.” The elf squeezed his hand for emphasis.

“Legolas, we are survivors of the Great War. Can we not manage to look after ourselves?” 

“Why put ourselves at risk?” the elf countered. “ Firstly, we do not know the territory, and its very nature is unfamiliar to us. Secondly, if we are to enjoy this time together, it might be to our advantage to have nights when neither of us needs to keep watch.”

This was a point Imrahil had not considered. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. “Very well,” he conceded. “But we must choose the men carefully or the whole venture will be ruined.”

“Why not ask Brenhir if we may meet with some of his guards, and request the most likely?” Legolas suggested.

“Huh! Have you seen the type of men they are? I can just imagine how it would be. ‘My Lord, this. Your Majesty, that. For the sake of your own safety, Sire, I must insist that…’ No,” said Imrahil firmly as a perfect thought occurred to him. “I have a far better idea.”

“Pray tell?”

“Gedrinel. We will ask Gedrinel to come with us.”

“Have you lost your mind, my love?” Legolas laughed. “Your friend is a fine sea captain and a most congenial man, but there are other qualities required for this task.”

“Gedrinel was born into a noble family,” Imrahil retorted, “and learned to wield a sword as soon as he could walk. He has fought off as many privateers as I have faced orcs – and with barely a scratch to show for it. You could not ask for a better man at your side.”

“That may be so, but I doubt that he knows a great deal about the desert. He told me himself that he has barely travelled outside the city walls.”

Imrahil allowed the point. “True. However, if we are to seek a local guide, Gedrinel could be just the man to find him. I would wager he has a whole army of acquaintances. We can trust him to find us a man with a bit of spirit, someone who would neither bore us to death, nor drive us to distraction with his pompous blathering. And someone handy with a sword.”

The elf gazed at Imrahil with a look of fond amusement. “This promises to be a most interesting journey, in more ways than one,” he said.

 

********************

 

“Here is the village where I was born, S’fayyah. As you see, it is on the very edge of the Sea of Sand itself.” Meh’ten’s long forefinger pointed to the lower right quarter of the map.

“How far is it from the governor’s villa, in terms of journey time?” asked Imrahil.

“From Khimmet? No more than two day’s ride on a swift horse. Three or four if you travel in caravan.”

“And what manner of terrain lies between the two?”

“It is desert, My Lord, but not of the type you hope to see. The ground is rough, rocky in places, and there is some small vegetation, but no fine sand or dunes. Those you will only find on the other side of the oases, here,” the scribe gestured to the arc of shaded spots on the map, roughly half way between the sea and the higher mountains of the far south. “S’fayyah is as good a starting point as any for your expedition, and you will find reasonable lodgings there. The gold road passes through the area and hospitality is the tradition of my people.”

“Is the road between Khimmet and S’fayyah safe?” Legolas interjected.

Meh’ten looked up from the map to address the elf, “Much safer than it used to be, Sire, thanks to Lord Brenhir’s campaigns against the bandits. That is not to say there are no thieves left, of course; but you are much more likely to encounter nomadic shepherds or a merchant caravan.”

“Hmm.” Imrahil pored over the chart, mentally calculating distances. “I think we should take your advice, and base ourselves in S’fayyah. From there we can travel out into the dunes and spend a night or two under the stars, can we not?”

“If you plan to do that, My Lord, I strongly advise that you engage the services of a local guide. The desert can be treacherous for those who are not familiar with its moods; it is terribly easy to lose one’s way. A miscalculation can be fatal for the traveller who runs out of water, and hiyenya have been known to prey on the distressed.”

“Hiyenya?” asked Legolas.

“Yes – scavenging animals, not unlike dogs, but larger and very vicious.”

“A local guide can protect us from these beasts?” The elf did not sound convinced.

“The hiyenya will not attack so long as you remain in a group and are active. But a guide will find you safe places to sleep, and will know if the hiyenya have been in the area.” 

“Very well then.” Imrahil brought the conversation back to the point. “We ride to Khimmet and stay a day or two in the governor’s villa. The hunting is exceptionally good, he tells us.”

“Yes. The staff at the villa will arrange a hunt for you, if you so choose. Hammin, the steward there, is most helpful, and his knowledge of the area is sound.”

“Excellent,” the prince continued. “We then ride to S’fayyah, and find lodgings in a local inn.”

“There are three or four in the village, and all are clean, although basic. Wherever you stay, you will be able to enquire about a guide. There will be someone in your party who speaks Haradin, I take it?”

“Yes,” Imrahil said confidently. A message had been sent to Gedrinel; by the end of the day the matter should be in hand.

“Then you should have no difficulties.”

Imrahil gazed at the dark-skinned scribe thoughtfully. The man had certainly matched up to his initial favourable impression. His manner was quietly respectful, with no hint of sycophancy. He was not overawed by the royal company, but spoke with a calm self confidence that came from true wisdom. Something about him reminded Imrahil of Heledir. 

The prince cleared his throat. “It strikes me, Meh’ten, that we would do well to find any guide as knowledgeable and fair-spoken as yourself,” he said. “If Lord Brenhir is able to release you, would you be prepared to join us on this journey?”

It was immediately apparent that he had said the wrong thing. Meh’ten’s placid features rearranged themselves into something suggesting panic. It was only for an instant, but the effect was alarming. 

“My Lord, I would be honoured beyond words to serve you. However, at this time, it would not be possible for me to leave… there is too much…” The scribe’s words almost tumbled over each other, then came to a floundering halt.

Imrahil met his lover’s eyes over the scribe’s head. The elf was frowning. He nodded slightly to the prince, then focused his attention closely on Meh’ten.

Imrahil spoke as soothingly as he could. “That is a great shame, my friend, but no matter,” he said. “Pray, do not concern yourself. We are grateful enough for your help today. Is there anything you would like us to take to the village for you? A letter, a package, a message?”

Once again he had unwittingly upset Meh’ten. Before his very eyes, the man’s composure was dissolving.

“My Lord, you are gracious indeed. I could not ask you…” There was a desperate note in his voice.

“Surely there is something we can do for you?” Now that he had raised the subject, Imrahil felt he could not simply back away.

“Thank you, My Lord, but it is not possible…”

The prince glanced at Legolas to find the elf’s eyes upon him. The message in them was clear. He sat back in his chair and waited.

“Meh’ten.” Imrahil recognised the elf’s tone, at once calming and compelling. He felt a shiver run across his neck, even though the mesmerising presence was not directed at him. 

“Forgive me if I speak inappropriately,” Legolas continued, leaning across the table towards Meh’ten. The scribe was gazing at him like a man transfixed. “It is clear to me that you are a good and honest man, and that there is something troubling you greatly. Would it not perhaps help you to tell us of your anxiety? We may be able to be of some use.” 

The words were innocent enough, but there was no denying their power. Still Meh’ten made an effort to resist. “I could not presume – I am only the governor’s scribe, My Lords, you must not concern yourselves…”

“Please, Meh’ten. Your anxieties are as important as those of the next man, and Prince Imrahil and I are only too happy to help you. Will you not speak of this problem?”

The scribe stared at the elf for a moment, then nodded slowly. His shoulders fell. “It is my sister, Rekia,” he said sadly.

“Yes?” Legolas prompted gently.

“We have always been close, since childhood, and I am devoted to her. I would very much like to send a letter to her, but I fear it may not be possible.”

“Why not?” the elf asked.

Meh’ten gave a heart-rending sigh. “Her husband, Bihal, will not allow it. He knows what I think of him.”

“He is not a good man?”

“He is a monster, and worse, a relic of the Great War. After the defeat, he took to the mountains and was thought lost. Better that he had been.” The scribe spoke with a sudden, bitter anger.

“But your sister?”

“Rekia married for the first time twelve years ago. It was her own choice, and Jened was a fine, gentle man of noble character. When he died of a fever two years ago, his brother Bihal returned to the village and claimed not only his property, but Rekia as his wife.”

“Claimed her?” asked Legolas, his brow furrowed in a frown. How strange the ways of men must seem to him.

“It is the law of my people that a man’s surviving brother should marry his widow, if his circumstances permit it. Neither Rekia nor I could do anything to prevent it. I know she is unhappy, but I cannot go to her.”

Legolas nodded his understanding. “Have you visited her since the marriage?” he said.

“No, and I cannot. I have promised her that I will keep away until she sends for me. She writes to me from time to time, and assures me that matters are improving, that with patience she is encouraging Bihal to reach an understanding with her. I know it is not true, and yet I can do nothing about it. He has the law on his side, and he is a powerful man.”

“Have you told Lord Brenhir of this?” Imrahil enquired, unable to remain silent any longer.

“No! I could not do such a thing.” The note of panic returned to Meh’ten’s voice. “Any action against Bihal would go badly for my sister, I am sure of it. I do not even know why I am telling you this. If you go there, he will know that I have spoken, and it will make matters worse for her.”

Legolas moved quickly before Imrahil could say any more. He reached to place a hand on the scribe’s arm and held the man’s gaze as he spoke. “I quite understand your fear,” he said, his tone so soothing as to be almost soporific. “Please accept my apologies for distressing you further by my questions; it is the last thing I intended to do. We will respect your decision. If you wish to send a letter to Rekia, we will undertake to deliver it to her with the utmost discretion. Bihal will never know. If you choose otherwise, you have only to say so. In either case, I wish both you and your sister well. It is a very difficult situation.”

Meh’ten and Legolas stared at each other for a long, quiet moment. Imrahil could sense that some communication was passing between them, but could only guess at its substance. Whatever Legolas had done or said, he had achieved the desired effect. When the elf withdrew his hand, Meh’ten was once again calm and composed.

“I thank you for your concern, My Lords,” the scribe said, bowing his head.

“And we thank you for your invaluable help,” replied Imrahil. “May we call upon your good offices tomorrow if there is anything else we need to ask you?” He pushed back his chair and stood, the scribe quickly following suit. 

“Of course, My Lord. I am honoured to be of service.” Meh’ten glanced towards the door.

“Thank you. Yes, you may leave us.” Imrahil smiled at the man and inclined his head slightly. 

Left alone in the room, Imrahil and Legolas gazed at each other in astonishment. 

“That was unfortunate,” the prince said. “I could not have known that there was a problem. He had given no sign of it until I asked him to accompany us, none whatsoever.”

“I doubt that he could have dreamed of such a suggestion,” Legolas replied. “He would expect a royal visitor to travel with a full armed retinue, and to have no need of a mere scribe.”

“Mere scribe, nothing. He strikes me as being a great deal more than that.”

“You are right.” Legolas shook his head. “It is not always wise to force the issue as I did. I can only hope it was the right thing to do on this occasion.”

“Better that he should speak than that he should leave the room in such a state, surely,” said Imrahil reassuringly. He walked around the table to stand behind Legolas, his hands resting on the elf’s shoulders. Leaning down, he stroked his cheek against the top of the golden head. 

Legolas brought his hands up to rest on Imrahil’s. For a moment they stayed as they were, each drawing strength from the other in some wonderful manner that the prince could never explain. A familiar warmth stole through him.

“Of course,” he said after a while, “now that we know of this Bihal, this ‘relic of the Great War…’” He let the sentence hang unfinished, knowing that his lover understood him. Such a man would have to be investigated, if only to report back to the governor on his activities.

“It will not be easy to be discreet,” said Legolas thoughtfully. “S’fayyah may be on a trade route, but I doubt that the villagers will have seen the likes of you and me before.”

Imrahil knew that his lover was right, and yet was not discouraged. With Legolas beside him, anything was possible.

“We will find a way,” he said firmly.

“Yes,” the elf agreed. “We will find a way.”


	7. Chapter 7

Kallim had talent, there could be no denying it.

From the moment the young man picked up his sword it had been obvious that his confidence was well founded. There was none of the incautious showiness that Gedrinel had half expected; instead his opponent challenged him with swift feet, a shrewd eye and a slicing right arm quite capable of serious damage. The captain had worked to stay on top. The sweat running down between his shoulder blades and the pounding of the pulse in his neck were evidence enough of his exertion. 

In a few years and with a little more experience to his name, Kallim would be nigh unstoppable. For now, he was a worthy match deserving of Gedrinel’s full attention. The captain narrowed his focus until he could no longer see the swirls of colour as robed men strode past the barriers that marked the arena’s edge, no longer hear the harsh music of the Haradin voices around them. He forced himself to ignore the sharp dry heat of the air in his nostrils and the smell of the parched sand under his feet. If he was to finish this cleanly, nothing must exist for him but his sword, and that of the white-clad figure before him. 

Gedrinel walked slowly backwards, drawing the younger man towards him as he blocked thrust after thrust with a solidly immovable arm, watching all the while for a sign of impatience in his adversary. When Kallim’s eyes briefly lifted to meet his, the captain saw his chance. His blade carved a wide vertical circle through the air and met Kallim’s half way along its length with a ringing crash. The southerner’s sword flew across the sand as Gedrinel’s swept upwards, its point coming to rest precisely over the hollow of Kallim’s throat where it emerged from his loose linen shirt. He heard the murmur of approval from the gathered onlookers and could not help but smile. 

“Do you yield?” he asked Kallim, pulling the blade back fractionally from the younger man’s glistening skin.

“Whenever you wish it.” 

Gedrinel might yet be the better swordsman, but with one look, Kallim had regained the upper hand. A dark pink tongue slid across a full lower lip, enormous brown eyes gazed up into his, and the captain’s heart tripped wildly. 

“Not here,” he hissed. 

“Why not? I speak the truth,” Kallim replied with a shrug. He fixed Gedrinel with a brazenly challenging stare. With his hands at his waist he tilted his hips very slightly forward, a movement too small to be noticed by their audience but enough to send the captain’s blood rushing to his head.

He could feel himself flushing like a foolish virgin. “Gods, you’re, you’re…” There had to be a word for it, if only his brain could grasp it.

“…thoroughly defeated,” said Kallim, with a sly grin. “You certainly know how to handle your weapon. But then, you had given me good cause to expect that.”

“There are a dozen men watching us,” growled Gedrinel. And here I stand, he thought, nailed to the spot, with a steadily growing problem in my breeches.

“So let us leave the arena to them,” the southerner replied. “We’ve entertained them enough for one morning.”

Kallim strode across the circle and stooped to retrieve his sword, before joining Gedrinel by the bench where they had left their personal effects and towels. He took his time, stopping to banter with some of the men who had been watching them spar.

It was clear that Kallim was both well known and well liked at the gymnasium. Gedrinel had lost count of the names he had learned on their arrival, as lithe youths and swarthy older men alike had approached to greet Kallim and peer curiously at his northern guest. He had been introduced formally, as ‘Captain Gedrinel of Belfalas, a business associate,’ and perhaps some had thought no more of it. 

He would not have agreed to come to this place, had Kallim not assured him that no inference would be drawn from their friendship. He’d chosen to believe that it was the truth. This morning he’d caught enough lingering glances from beneath long dark lashes to wonder if he’d been misled. Some of these young warriors, surely, had a more intimate knowledge of Kallim than the youth had admitted to. He had put such concerns aside in the excitement of the sword fight, but now, watching Kallim leaning on the wooden barrier and laughing with his friends, his hands moving in extravagant gestures to illustrate some outrageous point, he was aware of a creeping unease radiating out from his belly and threatening to engulf him. Was it only his reputation he was concerned for?

It had been the strangest of weeks. 

After that wild night in the Goldsmiths’ Quarter, Gedrinel had somehow found his way back to the ship, to wake in the late morning with a pounding head and a sense of unreality that only grew throughout the day. By the time evening came, he was almost ready to believe that the whole encounter with Kallim had been nothing more than the product of his befuddled mind. Then a messenger boy had arrived bearing a note, written in purple ink with a stylish hand, inviting him to dine the following evening. 

The dinner had been enjoyable in its own right. The food and wine were of the highest quality and Kallim proved to be excellent company, with a wickedly sophisticated wit far beyond his years. What came later was even more memorable. Just thinking of that hour spent on the young man’s bed, subjected to the shocking pleasure of his mouth and hands, was enough to make Gedrinel feel faint. He had staggered back down to the docks after, his mind full to bursting with doubts and questions, his body quite certain that he would be back for more.

The day of the councillors’ presentation to the people had been spent with old friends and trading partners, viewing the ceremonies from a shaded seat for which, no doubt, good money had been paid. It had been a long and exhausting day, but Gedrinel had found the energy to meet Kallim in the evening, as arranged, in a waterfront tavern. He had lost the price of a small cargo over a few rounds of cards, then won it all back with the toss of a coin before Kallim dragged him outside. There, in the dark airless alley at the rear of the building, the captain had abandoned any pretence of self control. With hands thrust into half-opened clothing, each had brought the other to a rapid, desperate climax, no less astonishing for its sordid setting.

In the bleary haze of the next morning’s hangover, Gedrinel had resolved never to gamble with Kallim again. More than that he could not trust himself to say. 

He had not had the chance to put his determination to the test, since Kallim had made himself scarce for the whole of that day and evening, saying that traders from all over the country were in town for the festival and there was a great deal of business to be done. Gedrinel had mingled with the crowds seeking entertainment in the great squares of the city, trying to make the best of the holiday. Nightfall had found him in his cabin, stroking himself furiously while picturing a dark head bent over him.

If this was an itch, scratching was only making it worse.

“You do not seem very happy, for a man who has just trounced his opponent.”

Gedrinel, roused from his reverie, turned to see a stranger staring intently at him. The man was about his own age, with the dark skin and eyes typical of the Haradrim. His large, slightly hooked nose lent a cruel look to a sharply handsome face. 

“Oh, I would hardly say I trounced Kallim. He is a swordsman of considerable skill.” The stranger’s interest was unnerving, but Gedrinel replied as blandly as he could.

A predatory smile revealed a number of teeth capped with gold. “Indeed,” the man said, “he is a very talented boy, but so deliciously… willing in defeat. Would you not agree?” 

Thankfully, Gedrinel was saved the trouble of finding a suitable response. 

“Finaadi, namediyya!” Kallim addressed the man as ‘friend,’ but his voice was cold.

“Enough?” The man spoke deliberately in Westron, watching Gedrinel sidelong. “My dear, I was not aware that you even knew the meaning of the word.”

The captain felt his hands balling into fists. Kallim, however, remained calm. “Do I hear in your voice the envy of maturity for the exuberance of youth?” he said lightly. “I had thought better of you, Nekhren. Come, Captain Gedrinel, we have work to do.”

Gedrinel looked over his shoulder to see the man frowning after them. His own brow felt tight with tension. “Who is that?” he asked in an undertone. “What right does he have to speak to you that way?”

Kallim took him by the arm and steered him through an arch into a long gloomy hallway. “Nekhren?” he said, “Oh, he’s a powerful man in the city. He says what he likes.”

“But he acted as if you and he…” there was no way for him to complete the sentence.

“It’s sometimes necessary to have dealings with men like him.” Kallim gave another of his characteristic shrugs, then spun on his heel to gaze up at Gedrinel. “Why, Captain, I do believe you’re jealous - how delightful!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gedrinel said crossly, trying to ignore the younger man’s grin. For want of a better idea, he followed as Kallim set off again down the hall. “Where are you taking me?”

“That depends on you. Are you ready to leave, or will you take this opportunity to flatten me in the wrestling ring, as you so manfully promised?”

“Are you insane?”

“Why insane?” Kallim stopped at the junction of three corridors and waited for him to catch up.

Gedrinel felt his face flushing hot once more. “I cannot grapple with you in front of half of Umbar,” he said bluntly.

“Oh! You are concerned for our privacy? There is no need.” Kallim turned into the left hand corridor and spoke to the old man who sat on a bench beside a row of wooden doors. “Gamiz ka’esh toll?” 

The old man mumbled in reply and hauled himself up to his feet. He took a large key from a hook on the wall and handed it to Kallim with a toothless grin. Kallim slipped a copper piece into the shaking hand in return, then bowed slightly and thanked him respectfully.

“Is what free?” Gedrinel was asking, unable to make out a word of the old man’s speech.

“There are many forms of training that require total concentration,” Kallim said, walking towards the second door. “Of course there are private spaces for such pursuits.”

It was not a large room, but adequate for their needs. Apart from a simple bench and a huge clay water jar standing near the door, it was unfurnished. High windows on the far wall let in the light, while lower down, carefully carved channels in the stonework allowed cool air to circulate without providing a line of sight. The floor was covered with a thick dark matting. Gedrinel eyed it curiously.

“Several layers of wool and rushes,” Kallim said, following his glance. “If you take a fall in here, you will not injure yourself too badly.”

“If I take a fall,” said the captain. 

Kallim raised an eyebrow at him before bending to remove his shoes. Gedrinel sat down to pull his boots off, then watched as the younger man tugged his shirt over his head and threw it onto the bench.

“Do you not wish to do this? Perhaps you’re afraid that you cannot live up to your claim?” Kallim said.

That was hardly the point. Gedrinel had little doubt of his own ability in unarmed combat, and his greater stature gave him a significant natural advantage. However, faced with the sight of Kallim’s naked chest, its twin gold adornments a permanent invitation to reach out and touch, he was having some difficulty focusing on their purpose in the room. 

He shook his head, forcing himself to concentrate. “Do you think so little of me?” he said with a laugh, and started to unbutton his own shirt.

Kallim’s wrestling style was very different from his approach with the sword. There was no rapid aggression, no daring feints and dazzling footwork. Instead, he took a defensive posture, circling quietly, alert and attentive, trying Gedrinel’s patience. 

They edged around each other warily for a while, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Gedrinel kept his eyes on Kallim’s face, trying to read his intentions and steadfastly avoiding looking any lower. Eventually, thinking that the morning must be growing old, he decided it was time to move. 

His lunge was precise and well-executed. One hand closed around Kallim’s arm and he stepped around swiftly to place the southerner in a lock. But suddenly the younger man twisted in his grip and simply melted away, leaving him empty-handed. Gedrinel stumbled a little under his own weight, then turned at the far side of the mat, wondering what had happened. Kallim was regarding him steadily, his body balanced and ready as if he had not moved at all. 

Gedrinel grinned, and resolved to do better with his next attempt.

After his fifth or sixth unsuccessful attack, the captain realised that he was being played by an expert. Each time he approached, Kallim would let him get close, would allow him to make contact with smooth warm skin. Just as he sensed that victory was within his grasp, Kallim would duck, twist, sidestep and somehow slide away from him, leaving him momentarily bemused and frustrated. He understood the game, but was struggling to keep his control.

“Are you going to fight me, or simply spend all morning drawing me on and slipping away?” he said, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. 

“You want me to do my worst?” replied Kallim, evidently amused by Gedrinel’s loss of composure. “Very well, come at me, and we shall see.”

His pulse racing disturbingly quickly, Gedrinel stared at him, this sleekly muscled, provocative youth. We shall see, indeed, he thought.

Kallim stood his ground as Gedrinel surged towards him. At the last moment he spun around, presenting his back and stooping into a crouch as the captain reached for him. Before Gedrinel was fully aware of the ruse, Kallim had his arm in a firm grip and was pulling him forward and down, adding to his own momentum. Somehow Gedrinel found himself tumbling over the young man’s shoulder to land flat on his back, utterly winded.

In an instant, Kallim was upon him, straddling his hips and pinning the captain’s arms with both hands. The southerner shifted a little, pressing his cock against Gedrinel’s. He began to rock, firmly and deliberately. It was no surprise that they were both growing hard.

“Now I have you,” said Kallim in a voice dark with mischief. “Worth waiting for, isn’t it? Although I could wish that it was you having me.”

Gedrinel groaned. Any thoughts he had been harbouring of salvaging the situation and throwing Kallim off, re-establishing his dominance in the fight, were rapidly disappearing.

“We can’t do this here,” he said.

“Why not? It won’t be the first time.”

Gedrinel thought of Nekhren with his hawk-like features, of the sly glances from the slim, handsome youths, the knowing smiles from the burly older men they had met on arrival at the gymnasium. A vague, unreasoning anger swelled within him.

“Free my hands,” he muttered.

He had intended to push his assailant away and get to his feet. But when Kallim slid his legs further apart and leaned forward on his arms to obey Gedrinel’s request, the change in angle pushed their cocks together more firmly still. Without any conscious decision on his part, Gedrinel’s hands went to the young man’s hips and curled into a bruising grip there, keeping Kallim in place as he thrust upwards, over and again, grunting with the effort of it. The friction was almost painful, but wonderfully so.

When Gedrinel paused for a moment to draw breath, Kallim spoke, urgently. “Let me touch you.” 

The captain relaxed his hold and watched as Kallim sat up and edged back to make room for his hands. The southerner demolished the fastenings of Gedrinel’s breeches alarmingly quickly and gazed down at him with undisguised hunger. Then Gedrinel was groaning with delight at the sensation of hot fingers wrapped around his flesh, and was thrusting up again into the long strokes, pleasure building inevitably in his loins. 

“Wait,” he gasped. “You, too.”

Kallim grinned wolfishly at him and paused for long enough to loosen his own trousers and push them down. The sight of his long, curved erection made Gedrinel suddenly breathless. He listened to the pulse hammering in his throat as Kallim shifted above him, rubbing their cocks against each other, then clasped them together in a two-handed grasp.

After that, events moved quickly. 

His knees were bent, his feet flat on the floor to give him purchase as he matched Kallim’s rhythm with his hips. His hands were stroking up from the linen-clad thighs, over the firmly ridged belly to the smooth, damp chest. His fingers found the gold rings, twisting and turning them, sliding them through the sensitive flesh. 

Kallim was crying out at his touch, throwing his dark head back, clutching and dragging frantically at their cocks. The southerner came first, with a great shout of satisfaction, but Gedrinel was not far behind. 

“Gods!” he yelled, his fear of discovery forgotten in the moment of completion.

When it was over, Kallim bent down to him and began to lick the fluids from his chest. His tongue caught in the thick swirls of hair, tugging and tickling. It was too much for Gedrinel in his sensitised state.

“Enough!” he laughed, shivering. 

Kallim drew back, far enough to eye him speculatively. Then, without speaking, he moved himself forward, his chest slipping across Gedrinel’s until he lay with his mouth not far above the captain’s.

Gedrinel realised what the younger man was planning to do even before he started to dip his head. He wriggled his hands free from between them and brought them to Kallim’s shoulders, at the same time turning his head away. He had no idea why the thought of a kiss from those sensual lips appalled him so. At least Kallim had the sense not to question him about it.

The younger man rolled to the side and propped himself up on one elbow. He stroked Gedrinel’s chest gently, waiting until the captain met his gaze.

“Was it good?” he asked.

“You don’t need to ask. Of course it was.” 

Kallim smiled almost sweetly. “But it could be even better. When are you going to give in to your desire and fuck me, Gedrinel?” he said softly. “You know quite well that you want to do it.”

Gedrinel shut his eyes, trying to ignore the spasm of pleasure sent rushing through him by Kallim’s words. He wanted to protest, but for some reason his voice would not come out. 

His silence was evidently taken as an assent. “Come to my house tonight,” Kallim said. “I will give you what you want, do not doubt it.”

“Tonight I cannot,” Gedrinel responded too quickly, unsure whether he felt relief or disappointment as he spoke.

Kallim stared at him. For a moment the carefree sophistication was nowhere to be seen; in its place was something that looked like sadness. Gedrinel suffered a brief but painful pang of guilt.

“I have a prior engagement,” he explained, “with Prince Imrahil. He has summoned me to the Governor’s Palace on urgent business.”

“What is it?” Kallim frowned.

“I have no idea, since his message gave me no details.”

“Perhaps he wants to discuss your return journey. Could he be ready to leave so soon?” Kallim spoke in a neutral tone, but Gedrinel avoided his eyes, none the less. 

“It’s possible, although he seemed keen to stay for longer when we last spoke,” he replied.

“Well, you shall have to go and find out,” said Kallim more cheerfully. “Will the luscious Legolas be present for your meeting, do you think?”

Now it was Gedrinel’s turn to frown. He had managed to avoid any talk of Imrahil and Legolas until this point, and would rather keep it that way. Admitting what he knew to Zirri was one thing, but with Kallim it seemed a little too close to home. 

“I really don’t know,” he said shortly.

Naturally, his attempt at discretion only excited Kallim’s curiosity. 

“He was quite the most decorative item in the celebratory procession, to my mind,” the southerner announced. “I should like to know more about him.”

The captain raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “You and all of Umbar,” he said.

Kallim laughed appreciatively. “Oh, there’s no need to be jealous again. You must, by now, be aware of the fact that I like my men to be rather more decidedly… manly.” The hand on Gedrinel’s chest snaked down over his belly and he shuddered as fingers raked through the curls at his groin. 

“I have heard that elves are completely hairless, everywhere,” Kallim continued. “I think I would find that a little disconcerting. Wouldn’t you?”

“I’ve really never thought about it,” Gedrinel said firmly. That, at least, was true. It wasn’t the elf he had seen naked in his dreams.

Kallim took the hint. Withdrawing his hand, he shifted to his knees, then stood and extended an arm to Gedrinel. The captain got to his feet and looked down at himself, dishevelled and sticky. 

The southerner nodded to him. “Perhaps we should visit the hot bath before we leave,” he said.

“Hot bath?” Gedrinel echoed stupidly. The thought of wallowing in hot water with Kallim immediately conjured up thoughts that were anything but clean. And they were about to do this in public?

“Yes, bath. Are you not familiar with the custom of bathing? I’d been led to believe that it was not unknown in the north.”

Gedrinel glared at him, then laughed in spite of himself. There was little point in pretending that he was going to resist. He walked to the bench, picked up his shirt, and thrust one arm into a sleeve. 

“Lead me there,” he said. “I’m sure I can learn.”

 

********************

 

The late evening sun was hot on Gedrinel’s face as he climbed the steep road to the Governor’s Palace. Thank the gods, he’d decided against his best embroidered jerkin and opted for a lightweight tunic in the Umbar style. It wasn’t every day he was invited to a dinner such as this one, but discreet enquiries had reassured him that semi-informality was the norm at the Viceroy’s table.

In truth, he had better things to concern himself with than the manner of his dress. Seeing Imrahil from afar during the ceremonies was one thing; talking to him face to face quite another. For twenty years Gedrinel had been privileged to call the prince his friend. This was the first time he had felt anything other than pleasant anticipation at the prospect of their meeting.

Don’t think of the dreams. Saying the words to himself was, of course, counter-productive. He might tell himself to turn his mind to other things, but the association had been made and it was already too late. His legs were weakened by the sudden flash of memory. The golden skin, slick with sweat; the handsome face contorted in ecstasy; the strong hand holding the elf close, while knowing eyes bored into his own; and oh, the touch of that hand on his body… 

How could he stand before his monarch now, with such madness coursing through him? He could only pray to the Valar that he’d have enough strength to keep it inside, and to speak like a man in control of his faculties, at least.

The steward showed him to a small ante chamber where he waited a few nervous moments before Imrahil came to find him. The prince was positively glowing, his skin darkened and his hair lightened by a few days of southern sun. Gedrinel reflected that he should not have worried about his clothes, at least. Imrahil himself was wearing an outfit of Haradin design, a long loose tunic and trousers in pure white cotton, embroidered with silver and laced low at the neck. The effect against his tanned flesh was most striking.

“Gedrinel, my friend! How good it is to see you!” 

The prince’s hearty greeting did little to untie the knot in the captain’s belly. The friendly grip on his shoulder was as it had always been, the smile one of unmarred happiness. Gedrinel attempted to match it.

“Are you well, Gedrinel? You do not seem to be quite yourself.”

“Aye, My Lord, I am well,” he managed. “Perhaps I have walked too far in the heat. I should have taken a carriage.”

“I should have sent one for you,” replied Imrahil promptly. “My apologies. Well, shall we go through to the courtyard and see what delights await us at Brenhir’s table? The food here is a constant joy to me, I must admit. We can talk privately after the meal.”

The prince’s cheerful enthusiasm was impossible to resist. Gedrinel found himself relaxing a little as they strolled into the open court, which proved to be full of the governor’s staff, milling about and making their way to the tables. Across the space the captain spotted Legolas, deep in conversation with a solid woman of middle years, Brenhir’s wife, Lady Mariél. At the sight of the elf, he felt his eyebrows lift and a grin form on his face. He erased it quickly. 

Like Imrahil, Legolas had adopted the local clothing. His outfit was a near match for his friend’s, but for the colour. The elf’s tunic and trousers were of a pale silvery blue that seemed to shimmer in the last of the sunlight, and the decorative stitching was in white. Arrayed thus, the two princes complemented each other perfectly. Side by side, the pair of them would be dazzling.

The captain cleared his throat. “I see that you and Prince Legolas have taken to the southern style of dress,” he murmured.

“Yes, following Brenhir’s excellent example. These outfits are wondrously comfortable in the heat, are they not? Ours were a gift from one of the councillors – it seemed appropriate to accept them, since the offering was thoughtful, rather than extravagant. The man’s family have made a fortune in textiles, I believe.”

“Ah, the Bereshis. I know them.” Gedrinel had traded with the Bereshi clan on a number of occasions, when his budget had allowed it. No wonder the cloth was of such fine quality, the needlework so intricate.

“Councillor Tarit Bereshi. An interesting man,” the prince said, casting a shrewd glance at Gedrinel. “It occurs to me that I should have spoken with you long ago on the subject of the chosen twelve. Your activities on land must have brought you into contact with a fair few of them.”

Gedrinel thought quickly. Was this what the prince had summoned him for, to seek his intelligence regarding the men of the council? Surely Brenhir would have far better sources available to him. Perhaps there was a reason why Imrahil couldn’t use them….

“I am acquainted with three or four of the councillors, yes,” he said quietly.

“Well, that is a topic for another occasion,” Imrahil went on. “Let us take our places now, and enjoy the feast.”

The dinner was, as the prince had predicted, superb. Gedrinel had not expected to have much appetite, given the state of anxiety in which he had passed much of the afternoon, but now that he was actually here the very normality of Imrahil’s manner towards him seemed to have broken the malignant spell of his dreams. He settled in to make the most of the meal, partaking of all the delicacies on offer and joining in the light-hearted conversation at the top table. 

Spirits were high in the Viceroy’s household after the successes of the week. Imrahil and Brenhir were very much at the centre of the laughter, while Legolas held those around him spellbound with his musical voice and elegant gestures. The governor’s son was quite clearly besotted, and Lady Mariél herself was hardly less enamoured. Surely they couldn’t be unaware of the burning looks exchanged from time to time by Legolas and Imrahil? Gedrinel refused to believe that he was the only one who could feel the passion simmering between them.

Once the tea glasses had been cleared away and people were starting to leave the table, Imrahil caught Gedrinel’s eye and gestured towards the door. They made their way from the courtyard and up to the first floor, to the prince’s private sitting room. The captain gazed about him, impressed by the clean white décor and the deliberately understated furnishings. Someone in the governor’s household had excellent taste.

“Legolas will join us shortly,” said Imrahil, shutting the door behind them and heading for the couches at the centre of the room. “Lady Mariél has dragged him away to look at some new plants with her. I believe she has taken quite a fancy to him.”

“I am certain that Prince Legolas has made a favourable impression on all who have met him,” said Gedrinel carefully, sitting, as indicated, across from the prince.

“Indeed. They would be helpless in the face of his charm, even if he did not offer the unfailing attraction of novelty,” Imrahil agreed with a rueful smile.

The captain wondered what it must be like to be involved with such a beautiful and enchanting lover, admired by all and desired by so many. Was Imrahil constantly plagued by jealousy? He thought back to the events of the morning, to the men at the gymnasium so eager to speak to Kallim, and then frowned. What had that to do with it? Kallim was not his lover. He was… whatever he was, it was a different matter entirely.

Thinking of Kallim at this precise moment was not a good idea.

“Some wine?” Imrahil was saying, “or would you prefer a glass of water? You are looking a little flushed.”

Gedrinel accepted the goblet as graciously as he could, and swigged down a great draught of the cool water. As he glanced around the room, keen to find a distraction, his eye settled on a small wooden cage standing on top of a glass-fronted cupboard. He peered at its occupant curiously. A bright blue bird about the size of a sparrow stood huddled on the perch at the back of the cage, its darker coloured head tucked down to its wing.

“Are you aware that your bird is set to escape?” he said. “The cage door is open.”

“Yes, it is left so by design,” smiled Imrahil. In response to Gedrinel’s questioning look he continued, “Legolas brought her from the livestock market. It was a mistake to take him there; the plight of the animals distressed him greatly. I had a hard time dissuading him from buying the lot of them – we would have caused a terrible stir, and Brenhir’s garden would have been overrun with liberated beasts. As it is, Chiya here is loathe to leave the familiarity of her cage without Legolas to encourage her. He had intended to release her, but it seems she chooses to stay.”

The fondness in the prince’s tone was enough to make Gedrinel’s heart ache. “It must be difficult, sometimes, for Prince Legolas to accept the customs of men,” he said thoughtfully.

Imrahil looked deeply into his eyes, and spoke almost sorrowfully. “Yes,” he replied, “Yes, it often is.”

Gedrinel sipped from his goblet and waited. Imrahil refilled his own glass and poured some wine for the captain before coming to the point.

“Now, you will be wondering why I asked you here, although the prospect of spending an evening together would always be enough to warrant an invitation,” the prince began. “In truth, I have a request to make, or rather two requests. Before I tell you more, I must say this: if you agree, let it be from friendship and not from duty, I beg you. I would have you participating wholeheartedly in this venture, or not at all.”

“This venture?” said Gedrinel, with a slight thrill of anticipation. This sounded nothing like a request for an early departure.

Imrahil sat forward on the couch, his face alight with enthusiasm. “Legolas and I are preparing for a trip south, to the great Sea of Sand; a journey of some two, maybe three weeks. Would you consider joining us?”

Gedrinel stared at him stupidly. “Me? Why would you need me to come with you into the desert?”

“We are not intending to travel with a full retinue of soldiers and servants,” Imrahil replied. “I had thought we might go alone, but Legolas and Brenhir have convinced me that such a plan would be folly. It seems to me that we could not hope for a better fellow traveller than yourself. I trust you completely; you are more than a match for any bandit we might encounter on the road; and just as importantly, we would enjoy your company.”

Two weeks in the desert, alone with Imrahil and Legolas? Surely his constitution could not stand it! Gedrinel took a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in his stomach. 

“With all due respect, Sire,” he said, “I am deeply flattered by your confidence in me, but would it not be wiser to look for someone with a knowledge of the area, someone who speaks fluent Haradin? Or a trained guard, perhaps two? Undoubtedly the Governor can suggest some likely candidates from amongst the higher ranks of his army.”

“Undoubtedly. And can you imagine what manner of men they would be? I would far rather travel with a good friend than with a pair of stiff-backed soldiers from the Royal Guard of Umbar.”

“That I understand. But Sire, I speak only a little Haradin, and have no experience of the desert.”

“And so you bring me to the second part of my request.” Imrahil leaned forward with an irresistible smile. “What we need is a fourth man for the party. I rather hoped that you might find him for us.”

“A fourth man?” A faint sense of foreboding nudged at Gedrinel’s mind. 

“Yes, a local, or someone who has been here long enough to know the land and the language well. Someone we can rely on, but who will not stand on ceremony.”

The foreboding was rapidly developing into panic. “Forgive my impertinence, Sire, but once again, would Lord Brenhir not be the man to ask? He must know many more local people than I do.”

“No doubt that is so, and if necessary, I shall seek his help. But if you are to travel with us - and I sincerely hope that you will - it seems sensible to ask you first. How much better to spend the time with friends than with strangers? I would hope the journey will be a pleasurable experience for all of us. Besides, I think you know exactly the sort of man I have in mind.”

The prince stopped to take a mouthful of wine before continuing. Gedrinel did likewise. At this moment, a drink was exactly what he needed.

“A local man, probably youngish, not a pompous dry stick who is going to insist on royal titles and obsequious formality. Someone with a sense of adventure, but canny and useful in a fight. Quick-witted and entertaining, yet discreet when necessary.” Imrahil laughed. “Of course, when stated like that, it does seem a rather ambitious request to make.”

Stated like that, the description was almost enough to make Gedrinel wonder if the prince had been having him followed for the last few days. If he had added handsome, seductive and utterly infuriating, the picture of Kallim would have been complete.

What in all of Arda was he going to do? He could not fail his lord, and there was clearly only one candidate for the post. Unfortunately, the thought of introducing Kallim to Imrahil filled him with waves of nauseous anxiety.

Was it only anxiety, or was there also excitement at the prospect of a fortnight in the desert in the company of two glorious princes and one sexually voracious youth? At this stage, it was impossible to tell.

A temporary reprieve from his dilemma came as the door opened and Legolas slipped into the room. He nodded to the two men, smiling warmly, and said, “Captain, my apologies. I would have joined you straight away, but I did not wish to be rude to our hostess. I took my leave as soon as it was polite to do so.”

“I have told Gedrinel of our plans.” Imrahil beamed at the elf.

Legolas crossed to the glass-fronted cupboard as he addressed Gedrinel again. “And have you managed to persuade the prince that he has lost his mind, or are you too much of a diplomat for that?” 

Imrahil took up the challenge before Gedrinel could speak. “Enough of your teasing!” the prince exclaimed. “Gedrinel is too spirited a man to take such a niggardly view.”

Legolas looked over his shoulder at Imrahil, then at Gedrinel, his eyes sparkling with mirth. How happy they are together, the captain thought. He watched, intrigued, as the elf bent close to the cage and slowly moved his hand inside, whistling quietly as he did so. When he turned to join Imrahil on the couch, the little blue bird was perched on his finger. As Legolas sat down and rested his arm on the cushions, she sidled across his hand and began to make her way up his sleeve.

“What will you do with, um, Chiya when you set off into the desert?” asked the captain suddenly, struck by the inconsequential thought. “It will hardly be practical to bring her with us.”

Legolas responded in all seriousness. “I have asked the scribe, Meh’ten, to take care of her,” he said. “He is a gentle man; he will not alarm her.”

Imrahil was grinning broadly. “With us, you said,” he announced. “You have decided to join us on this journey.”

“My Lord, I could hardly refuse.” Gedrinel spoke with rather more conviction than he felt.

“Not for duty’s sake, I hope,” the prince said, leaning closer and fixing him with a penetrating stare. 

“Indeed not, Sire. The Sea of Sand is said to be spectacular; I would be a fool to turn this opportunity down. And besides, I doubt I could rest for a moment until your safe return.”

Legolas smiled his approval. “I shall breathe more easily, knowing you are with us,” he said.

“Excellent,” said Imrahil. “And what of my other request, the infeasibly perfect fourth man?”

Gedrinel looked from Imrahil to Legolas, resplendent and relaxed together on the couch. It would be hard to say, at that moment, which of them was the more beautiful. Imrahil was the picture of healthy vigour, all vivid colour and animation; Legolas sat perfectly still and composed, a study in glimmering ivory, silver-blue and gold. The little bird had found her way to his shoulder and rested there, evidently quite content. It should have been a ridiculous sight, but in fact she only served to make the elf appear more magically ethereal than ever.

Two pairs of eyes, the one grey-green like the autumn sea, the other a deep clear blue, gazed at him expectantly. Two great heroes of the age waited for his word. He couldn’t possibly disappoint them. On the other hand, he was almost certainly about to commit the most foolhardy act of his life.

Gedrinel swallowed a mouthful of wine to soothe his suddenly dry throat. “I believe I may know of someone suitable,” he said.


	8. Chapter 8

"Sweet lemon, Nemediyyin. Welcome." Two small glasses, their rims ornately decorated with gold flowers, were placed before them.

"Thank you." Imrahil smiled up at the tall man in the long dark blue robe. He had to be from the south - his thin face had a look of Meh'ten, and under the neat blue hat his hair was wiry and close cropped. 

"What may I bring?" the man said in heavily accented Westron. "I have wines and ales from the north if it is your pleasure."

"Oh, no, no thank you," the prince said quickly. "Some local ale, if you have it, for me. Legolas?"

"And for me also," the elf said. 

"Dark or light, Sir?" 

"Which do you recommend?"

"The dark is same like northern ale," the man said. "The light more strange for visitors."

"The light it is, then," pronounced Imrahil with a grin. 

The man bowed and swept away. Imrahil watched him disappear through the curtain of beads hanging across the archway, then cast his glance around the room.

There were about a dozen tables in all, each set back in its own booth, shielded by intricately carved wooden screens and lit by brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Along three sides of each recess were low couches, covered in brightly coloured woven rugs and scattered with cushions. As far as the prince could see, the other niches were all occupied by groups of local men, reclining on the couches, sitting cross-legged to smoke tall water pipes, or leaning forward intent on some sort of game. The clack of the pieces against the wooden boards punctuated the low hum of conversation in the room. The atmosphere was quietly relaxed, with none of the raucousness one might expect to find in a Belfalas tavern at this time of night. 

Imrahil finally turned to his companion. Legolas sat resting against a pile of cushions in the corner of the booth, his legs neatly folded in front of him. He had slipped off his nondescript hooded grey cloak and his hair glinted in the lamplight. Watching him, the prince was suddenly struck by the impossibility of his wish to travel anonymously through the south. Even in Umbar, an increasingly cosmopolitan trading city, the elf stood out like a beacon. There was an intriguing mixture of people to be seen here, but nowhere amongst the variations on Haradin, Numenorean and Gondorian blood was there a single blond head to be found. Add to that the elf's natural grace and beauty, and he could not fail to attract attention wherever they went. The elven cloak from Lorien was all the disguise he had.

Even as the thoughts passed through Imrahil's mind, Legolas met his eyes and smiled, and the prince forgot his concerns.

"This place is very different from the taverns of the north, is it not?" the elf said.

"Indeed, and all the more fascinating for it. I wonder what game they are playing?"

"It is nothing like chess - the pieces are all the same, and they move around the board, not across it." How typical of Legolas to have noticed such details.

"When Gedrinel arrives with his friend, I must ask him," said Imrahil.

He looked up as the tall man in blue approached the table, bearing a large pewter tray. The man set down an earthenware pitcher and two tall goblets, then added several small plates. Imrahil gazed at the collection of seasoned nuts, seeds and olives, licking his lips happily. Umbar was well worth a visit for the sake of the food alone. The beer, too, proved to be a treat: spicy and sharp, it was marvellously refreshing on such a hot night. He swallowed a long draught of it and sighed with contentment.

A group of robed, bearded men passed by their table, and Imrahil raised his eyes to exchange a courteous nod with one of their number. His amiable smile turned to a frown, however, as he marked how some of the others allowed their glances to linger on Legolas. Leaning towards his lover, he addressed the elf in Sindarin. 

"I do not like the way some of these men look at you."

"If my memory serves me correctly, it was your idea to meet in a public place, rather than inviting Gedrinel's friend to the palace," replied Legolas, unflustered.

"Yes...." Imrahil toyed with his goblet as he spoke. "And I hold to my decision. It is well to start as we mean to go on, as a simple group of travellers, without rank or title."

"Then perhaps you should become accustomed to their curiosity. It is only to be expected."

"I suppose you are right." And if it was only curiosity in the men's eyes, it would be easy enough to deal with.

Before the prince could put this thought into words, Legolas gestured towards the door. "Ah, here are Gedrinel and Kallim."

Imrahil shifted on the couch to look at the pair, as they stopped at the entrance to talk to the proprietor. He waved a greeting to Gedrinel, who was hanging back and staring in their direction, then allowed himself a lengthy perusal of his friend's companion. 

The youth was rather shorter than Gedrinel, quite slim of build but with the broad shoulders that might be expected of a competent swordsman. He was dressed in trousers and tunic of a dark cream colour, elegant clothes that he wore well. His very posture spoke of self confidence. As he stood in discussion his back was presented to Imrahil, giving a good view of the thick black hair that hung loose well below his shoulders.

Once the conversation ended and the young man turned to cross the room at Gedrinel's side, Imrahil felt his eyebrows raise in honest surprise. Gedrinel had been a little reticent when questioned about Kallim the previous night. It would seem that there were some things he had neglected to mention altogether.

It was not merely a matter of good looks, although the youth was certainly blessed with those. His enormous dark eyes and full mouth might have given him a feminine aspect, were it not for the strong, slightly sharp nose and jaw line so characteristic of the Haradin men. His brows were heavy but perfectly shaped and his hair fell in rich waves behind his ears, each of which was adorned with a small gold ring. The overall effect was strikingly handsome, and there was something about Kallim's bearing that made it absolutely clear that he was aware of the fact. Even from half way across the room, he exuded a knowing sexuality that Imrahil found faintly disturbing. 

Since when had Gedrinel been keeping such glamorous company?

The prince risked a glance at Legolas. Of course, his lover's face betrayed none of his thoughts. He simply gave a small smile and rose smoothly to his feet to greet the new arrivals. Imrahil followed suit, although with rather less grace than the elf.

"Good evening, My... my friends," said Gedrinel, looking from Imrahil to Legolas with a worried expression. It was obvious that he had worked hard to produce such an informal greeting. 

"Good evening," the prince replied, nodding encouragingly at Gedrinel. "Thank you for joining us," he continued, turning to look at Kallim, "both of you." 

The young man performed a low, dramatic bow. "My Lords, I am honoured to meet you." At close quarters his air of exotic sensuality was even more marked. 

"Oh please, no," Imrahil said. "Did Gedrinel not explain the terms of our arrangement? There are to be no titles here, if we are to travel together as companions."

Gedrinel's mask of anxiety seemed to tighten at the words, but Kallim smiled broadly, showing even white teeth. "Very well. Imrahil, it is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Kallim Almajarram, and I am at your service." His voice was a perfect match for his appearance, being low, charmingly accented, and spiced with humour.

"Thank you, Kallim, the pleasure is mine." Imrahil clasped the outstretched hand briefly and returned the young man's smile. 

"And Legolas," Kallim said, turning to the elf and taking a moment to gaze at him in admiring appraisal.

"Khediren me'eliyya," replied Legolas unexpectedly, inclining his head. 

Imrahil stared at his lover in astonishment, but Kallim was clearly delighted. "T'reffen beshriyya. Ten Harr'din delinah!" he exclaimed.

"Fateesh, sett." Legolas made a slight dismissive gesture.

"But it would not take you long to learn more. Already you speak as one who truly hears the words," Kallim said, switching smoothly to Westron. "Who is your teacher?"

"The palace groundsman," Legolas replied. "A straightforward man with a good heart."

"I may not be able to match those excellent qualities, but I should be very glad to help you further your studies, if you so desire." Kallim seemed to be having some difficulty taking his eyes off Legolas.

"Let us sit," Imrahil suggested in the ensuing pause. He glanced across at Gedrinel and was momentarily taken aback by the pained expression on his friend's face. The captain's discomfort was almost palpable, and he was watching Kallim with a possessive, anxious frown. 

They settled on the couches, Gedrinel and Kallim opposite Imrahil and Legolas sinking back into the rear of the booth. The captain propped himself up on a pile of cushions, while Kallim slipped his shoes off and crossed his legs in front of him. With his hands resting on his knees, he appeared perfectly relaxed. Imrahil found himself staring at those hands, which were well cared for, but broad and strong. A wide gold band adorned the middle finger of the left one. 

Looking up again to the young man's face, Imrahil realised that Kallim's inclusion in the party was not going to improve their chances of remaining inconspicuous. His colouring and speech might declare him to be a native, but his combination of striking looks and confident manner would ensure he was noticed in any company. Of the four of them it was Gedrinel who would attract the least attention. He had trimmed his beard to a short point in the local style, and wore his long dark hair tied back. Here in Umbar his typically Numenorean appearance was not uncommon. In the south, of course, it might be a different matter. There, Gedrinel's impressive build and clear grey eyes might set him apart.

While Imrahil was contemplating his companions, the proprietor of the place bustled up to the table with wine and more plates of small delicacies. Kallim thanked him in Haradin, and poured the wine for Gedrinel and himself. Imrahil noted the exchange of meaningful glances as the goblet passed from hand to hand, and knew that he had been right in his interpretation of the captain's distress. It was most unexpected; he had known the man since he was a gangly lad of twelve or so, and had never for a moment suspected that he might have a weakness for beautiful boys.

Clearly, an interesting evening lay ahead.

"Your command of Westron is most impressive," the prince began, "yet I believe that you come from the south east?"

"Yes, from Hammeyet, not fifty leagues from your destination," Kallim replied.

"You must have been living in the city for some time, then."

"Some two years, that is all. But I could have spoken with you as I do now on the day of my arrival." Kallim leaned forward and placed his glass on the table before offering further explanation. "After the war, the ability to speak the language of our new masters was regarded as a sign of gentility, even in the provincial towns. My grandfather engaged a tutor from the north and insisted that all the household should learn, including the women and the higher servants. I grew up speaking Westron at the family table."

Imrahil considered the young man carefully, his beautiful speech, his exquisitely tailored clothes, the composure that belied his youth. "You are the son of a noble house," he said, and then, thinking of the endless roundabout diplomacy of the last week, added, "Forgive me if my direct words offend."

"I welcome them," Kallim laughed. "I have little time for obscure conversational gambits, myself. And you are right; my father is the biggest landowner in Hammeyet, and can trace his lineage back through half the Third Age. My mother's family are no less distinguished. Theirs was a worthy match."

"You left their home two years ago? You must have been very young," said Imrahil.

"I had no choice but to leave." Kallim replied. "Yes, I was young, barely seventeen, but not without some experience of life."

Imrahil took another swig of his ale, aware of a sudden stillness around the table. Legolas was silently drinking it all in as was his habit, his gaze focused on Kallim, while Gedrinel sat rigid, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. Perhaps the kind thing to do would be to abandon his questions, but logic suggested otherwise. If they were to set off into the desert with this good-looking youth as their guide, interpreter and guard, they had to know something about him and his background.

"You have kin here in the city, I believe?" All Gedrinel had been prepared to say was that he knew the family well and had good reason to trust them.

"I live in my aunt's house," said Kallim. "Zirri is my mother's sister. She is also the most sought after courtesan in all of Umbar, and a woman of great culture and beauty."

"Kallim -" Gedrinel protested. He stopped, and moved a hand in a gesture of frustration.

The young man turned to him and spoke calmly. "Better that they hear it from my lips. Your prince will surely conduct an investigation before entrusting himself to me for the duration of this journey. You must have realised it."

"Kallim is quite right," said Imrahil gently. And also shrewd and plain-speaking; not merely a pretty face, by any means. He could feel himself warming towards the young man.

At the same time, there was a story here of which he was eager to learn more. If Gedrinel was sufficiently intimate with Umbar's leading courtesan to count her as a trusted personal friend, what in Arda was he doing casting longing, jealous glances at her beautiful young nephew? And what, exactly, was the alluring youth's role in his aunt's household? Unfortunately these questions would have to wait. For now, he must consider how best to put Gedrinel at his ease.

Legolas had apparently been struck by the same thought, and had decided on a diversionary ploy. He shifted in his seat to draw attention to himself, and spoke over the rim of his goblet.

"Kallim, has Gedrinel told you of our proposed itinerary?" he asked.

"In outline, yes. I know that you intend to start in Khimmet, then to travel to S'fayyah and on into the Sea of Sand itself for a night or two. It seems a sensible route to take, if it is the true desert that you seek."

"And do you deem it wise for us to undertake the journey with such a small party?"

"Undoubtedly," Kallim replied, grinning. "If you were to travel with a full entourage to announce your presence, you would see little of the country, since you would lose three quarters of your time paying the necessary courtesy visits to every petty lord from here to the mountains. This way, I can show you something of the real charm of the land and its people."

"But what of our safety?" the elf persisted. "We have heard tell of bandits, and hiyenya, and various other dangers."

"I rather doubt that the road to S'fayyah could present a serious challenge to warriors such as yourselves!" The young man laughed incredulously. "I imagine you could fight off a pack of bandits with one arm tied behind your back, and only the foolish and unwary are troubled by hiyenya. Moreover, I know to my cost that Gedrinel is a formidable opponent, and I shall do what I can to aid him in guarding you while you rest."

"There is no need for excessive modesty," Gedrinel interjected, his anxiety apparently a little eased. "I have already told Legolas of your own skill with the sword, and how you floored me with your devious tactics in the wrestling ring."

"Have you indeed?" Kallim placed an unmistakeable emphasis on the phrase, and flashed his eyes briefly at Gedrinel. Imrahil bit his lip to avoid chuckling at the older man's confusion. Well! The poor captain, so concerned with propriety, would have to learn to choose his words more carefully in Kallim's presence. 

Imrahil slid his eyes sideways to catch the tiniest of smiles on his lover's face. Legolas had missed nothing, and was undoubtedly as amused as he. Gedrinel had certainly done them proud in finding a fourth man who would make for entertaining company.

"Have you ever had occasion to fight in earnest?" the prince asked, taking pity on the captain. 

"Oh, I have fought more than one genuine battle," said Kallim darkly. "I killed my first man when I was fifteen. It was not a pleasant experience, but it was unavoidable."

"Then you are a skilled and seasoned warrior, yourself," said Imrahil gravely, inclining his head a little in response to the sadness behind the young man's words.

"In such company as this, I could hardly describe myself in those terms! Your deeds are the stuff of legend." Kallim turned to Legolas, his eyes shining with eager admiration once more. "How I long to hear those stories from your own mouth - the journey of the three hunters, the Army of the Dead, how you brought down the four mûmakil on the fields of Pelennor..."

Legolas gave a musical laugh, and placed his goblet on the table. "Ah," he exclaimed, "you are not the first to ask me to tell that tale. I am sorry to inform you that the latter, at least, is a shocking exaggeration of the facts. There will be plenty of time to give you the truth of it in the course of our journey, no doubt."

"I would be deeply honoured," said Kallim earnestly, his enthusiasm quite undimmed by the elf's admission.

Imrahil smiled discreetly into his beer. There was something endearingly youthful about the southerner's zeal, particularly when set against his general façade of worldly sophistication. And thankfully, his fascination with Legolas appeared to be entirely innocent of amorous intent, at least to the prince's eyes. From the look on his friend's face, he was not so sure that Gedrinel would agree. It was time to steer the conversation back to safe ground.

They spoke for a while of the practicalities of the journey: horses and provisions, routes and lodgings, the sights they would see on the way. Kallim confirmed the information they had gleaned from Meh'ten, and offered many suggestions of his own. As the evening wore on, Imrahil was increasingly impressed by the young man's wit and common sense. Truly, Gedrinel had made a fine choice. The captain himself had finally calmed down and was joining in the discussion wholeheartedly, sounding a note of thoughtful caution in counterpoint to Imrahil's enthusiasm. As was so often the case, Legolas had fallen into the role of observer, listening intently and offering only the occasional, well-placed comment.

The four of them would make an excellent team.

Once the second flagon of ale had been drained and the plates of food cleared, Imrahil felt it was time to finalise their arrangement. He caught Legolas's eye and responded to the elf's almost imperceptible nod with a smile. As the conversation reached a natural pause, he turned to the young southerner.

"Well, Kallim," he said, "after hearing more of our plans, are you still happy to accompany us in this venture?"

"You do not need to ask! I can imagine no greater honour than this, nor greater pleasure."

Imrahil cleared his throat before moving on to the more delicate point. "Of course we shall expect to compensate you appropriately for your time."

The dark brow furrowed. "Please, do not even think such a thing," Kallim said forcefully. "I have no interest in your gold. To be in the company of two such... heroes as yourselves is more than compensation enough." Before Imrahil could apologise for having inadvertently offended his pride, the young man's face softened once more. "I shall not end the trip out of pocket," he continued with a grin. "No doubt there will be some fine opportunities for trade along the route."

The prince nodded appreciatively at Kallim's forthright yet tactful approach. "Very well," he said. Then, as the thought suddenly came to him, he went on, "If you have business in your home town, we could perhaps make a visit there on the return journey."

Kallim gave a short and bitter laugh. "Oh, Hammeyet is the last place I would wish to go. And you may be sure that I would not be made welcome there."

"Then I am sorry for suggesting it." Imrahil wondered what had become of his diplomatic skills since reaching Umbar. It seemed he had acquired a gift for saying the wrong thing.

Kallim smiled at him and dismissed the apology with a slight shake of the head. "I should explain myself, else you think I have committed a murder, or some other heinous crime," he said.

Gedrinel interjected, this time briefly placing a hand on the other man's arm to emphasise his warning tone. "Kallim, you do not have to speak of it."

Kallim rebuffed him with a shrug. "They will be told of it soon enough, I have no doubt. At least this way I know that they are hearing the truth." He drank deeply from his wine and turned back to Imrahil.

"To your eye the rules that govern behaviour in this land may seem to be very clear-cut. The reality is not quite so simple. A man may enjoy considerable licence in private, as long as he does nothing to disturb the outward show of respectability on which his family's reputation rests."

"Matters are not so different in the north," observed Imrahil dryly.

"Perhaps not, and perhaps, then, you can imagine what I am about to say." Kallim placed his glass on the table and leaned a little towards the prince.

"A Haradin man may dally with boys to his heart's content and none will question it, if he is discreet enough. In time he will marry and have sons of his own, and he will turn a blind eye when they do the same. But woe betide the boy who stands before his father and says, 'I shall not wed, for my heart was not made to love a woman as a husband should love his wife.' He can expect a swift and harsh punishment, for he has done the unthinkable; he has challenged the unwritten rules, and brought dishonour on the family name.

"I cannot recall exactly how old I was when I first became aware of my true nature. I know that I was sixteen when my father told me the name of the girl I should marry, and I told him that it would never happen. From that day forth he utterly disowned me, and within a month he had made it impossible for me to remain in Hammeyet. My mother was forbidden to speak to me; my friends would turn from me in the street. Men who had been eager to welcome me into their homes and beds shut their doors to me. What could I do but leave? By the gods' blessing I had Zirri to turn to. She is all the family I have now."

Imrahil stared across the table at Kallim as the young man took another long drink of wine and sat back on the couch, meeting his gaze steadily. The youth's air of cheerful self-assurance remained intact, but who could guess what pain and vulnerability might lie behind it? It was no wonder that he spoke with maturity beyond his nineteen years. He would have had to grow up quickly.

"It is a sorry tale," the prince said quietly, "and yet I thank you for sharing it with us. Know that I have naught but admiration for your honesty, and for your courage in remaining true to yourself, despite the hardship your integrity caused you."

"I had no option," Kallim said simply. "I cannot live a lie."

"And here in Umbar...?"

"...the rules are somewhat more relaxed. I no longer go by my father's name; I have no reputation to worry about but my own and Zirri's, and she has powerful friends. We do what is necessary to ensure that we remain undisturbed. My gold is as good as the next man's, and in most parts of the city, that is what counts. It is not a bad life."

"I am pleased to hear it," Imrahil said warmly.

Kallim's face relaxed into a faintly mischievous grin. "I hope my story will cause you no disquiet," he said. "Please do not worry that I will bring disgrace on our party by chasing after the local boys. I am perfectly capable of discretion when it is needed, and besides, my hands are quite full enough already."

Just in case the point of the comment had been missed, Kallim turned to Gedrinel and treated him to a wide-eyed, suggestive smile. For a moment Imrahil imagined that the captain might explode, but somehow he contained it and stared down into his glass with speechless, mortified anger written on his face. There was little the prince could do to smooth things over this time, so he feigned unawareness of his friend's embarrassment and spoke to the southerner once more.

"I have no doubts about your conduct, Kallim, nor about your suitability in any other respect. I am only happy that Gedrinel has made this introduction and that you are willing to travel with us. It will be a pleasure to further our acquaintance once we are on the road."

"And I agree with Imrahil; you have our confidence," added Legolas. "Now, if you will excuse us, I promised to speak to Lord Brenhir before he retires this evening, so I believe it is time we returned to the palace."

"Of course." Kallim raised his arm and signalled to the blue-robed server, who hurried across to their table. 

Imrahil settled the payment, and he and Legolas took their leave as promptly as courtesy would allow. While the elf exchanged pleasantries with Kallim, the prince found a moment to clasp Gedrinel's shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. 

"I cannot thank you enough, my friend," he murmured. "You have found the infeasibly perfect fourth man. I will send a message to you at the Lynx tomorrow afternoon, and we will settle the remaining details."

Gedrinel gripped Imrahil's arm in return and nodded silently. He appeared to be somewhat relieved, although he did not quite manage a smile.

After a final round of farewells, they made their exit and headed into the alley where the carriage awaited them. Once safely inside, Imrahil let out the laugh that he had been fighting to suppress for some time.

"Do you really have to see Brenhir?" he asked, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

"Not that I recall," said Legolas in a wry tone. "I thought our friends might have matters to discuss in private, and in any case, the tension was beginning to make my ears itch."

"Your ears...?"

"An elvish expression. You have not heard it before?" 

"No, but I find it rather endearing," said Imrahil, shifting a little closer to Legolas despite the warmth of the night, and pressing their thighs together. "Would you let me scratch them for you?" 

"Perhaps not here, after all that talk of discretion," replied the elf, "for who knows where it might lead? Once we reach our chambers, my ears are at your disposal."

"Only your ears?"

Legolas leaned in and breathed his reply across Imrahil's throat. "What do you imagine?"

"What I imagine," said the prince, shivering, "is likewise best left until later, if we are to avoid a major public incident."

As if in agreement, the carriage swerved violently to the right with a great clattering, and started to bump its way up a roughly cobbled slope before juddering to a complete halt. Their driver yelled a phrase that was unmistakeably a curse, and was answered by a chorus of shouts and laughter. Peering out into the poorly lit street Imrahil saw that they had somehow become surrounded by a herd of bony cattle being driven down the hill by an old man and a pair of tousle-headed boys. 

"Sorry, My Lord," the driver called down to him, "just one minute."

"No matter!" replied Imrahil cheerfully. He pulled his head and shoulders back into the carriage and settled into his seat. It seemed they might be waiting a while; perhaps it would be wise to change the subject.

"Poor Gedrinel," he said, picturing the man's rigid fury at Kallim's teasing words. 

"There are those who would consider him to be fortunate," Legolas said dryly.

"Well yes, Kallim is rather... exceptional, but I am not certain that Gedrinel knows what to do with him."

"And I am quite sure that Kallim will derive immense pleasure from teaching him all he needs to learn," replied Legolas at once.

"You understand what I mean," said Imrahil, shaking his head. The image conjured up by the elf's words was one he should definitely not dwell on. "Why in Eru's name did he make such a comment? He must have known how Gedrinel would react. Was it pure devilment, do you think?"

"Not entirely," said Legolas thoughtfully. "In fact, I believe he was genuinely hoping to offer some reassurance."

Imrahil considered this for a moment, and remembered Gedrinel's bleak expression as he watched Kallim enthusing over the elf. The young southerner could be no stranger to jealousy. On the other hand, he was probably also accustomed to being seen as a threat.

"Yes, reassurance," the prince mused. "But to whom, I wonder? Are we right to trust him, do you think?" 

"Almost certainly. He was honest with us, and he will see no harm come to Gedrinel."

"Are you going to tell me that it is love?"

"I am not sure what it is, but I know that Kallim wants something from your friend."

"More than he is already getting, you mean...." Again, Imrahil stopped himself before he could pursue the thought further. "I have never known Gedrinel to be interested in boys, or indeed men of any description," he went on. "I wonder how this can have come about?"

"Perhaps Kallim was difficult to refuse. Were you ever interested in boys, or men of any description?"

"You know I was not, and I take your point; you are quite right. But why should Kallim pursue Gedrinel in the first place? I would wager there are dozens of big handsome men eager to make his acquaintance. Why choose one who has no previous experience and is clearly riddled with doubt?" 

"Perhaps that is the whole point," said Legolas patiently. "And perhaps you do not know your old friend quite as well as you think, although from his behaviour tonight I would agree that he seems to be entering unfamiliar territory. Are these things ever truly a matter of choice? Maybe Kallim simply met Gedrinel and was drawn to him. He is not an unattractive man, by any means."

"No, but he is old enough to be Kallim's... ah." 

"And now you are going to suggest that it is fatherly affection he is seeking from the captain? That hardly seems likely."

"The minds of men are stranger than you could possibly imagine," said Imrahil darkly.

"I am all too well aware of that fact, my prince. Do you not remind me of it on a daily basis?" Legolas stroked his knuckles along Imrahil's leg from hip to knee, then rested his hand there while he leaned across to look out of the window. "Now," he continued, "have you had enough of these speculations? We are approaching the gates of the palace."

 

********************

 

"That will be all, Neledhen, thank you."

As fond as Imrahil was of his manservant, on nights such as this one he struggled not to show his impatience. Of course he could not expect to make a state visit without a few of his personal staff in tow, but he was more than capable of undressing without assistance, especially with his lover waiting in the next room. However, banishing Neledhen to the servants' quarters in the evenings would raise far too many eyebrows, and more importantly would upset the man himself. He would be distraught enough when he found out that Imrahil was planning to set off for the south without him.

Neledhen bowed respectfully, the grandeur of the gesture somewhat marred by the pile of linen he held over one arm and the dusty shoes clutched in the other hand. Imrahil smiled at him, relenting.

"Lord Brenhir's tailor should be here in the morning with the new outfits," the prince said. "There is no need to rush to the laundry with that one again. Leave it until tomorrow."

"Very well, Sire. If I may say so, it is a style which suits you uncommonly well." 

"Why, thank you. More to the point, it is astonishingly comfortable. Would you like one or two of these costumes for yourself? We could talk to the tailor." He should have thought of it sooner, such a simple and obvious gesture.

"My Lord, I should be delighted. You are most generous!" 

"That is settled, then. A light blue, perhaps, with your colouring, although we shall have to see what the old man suggests."

Neledhen scurried from the room beaming from ear to ear, leaving Imrahil feeling distinctly guilty. Moments later, he put his self-reproach aside when the door to the adjoining sitting room swung open and Legolas appeared.

His lover had discarded his tunic and shoes, and was clad only in the silvery coloured trousers. Something about the way they rested snugly on the hips before draping softly below made Imrahil's mouth water. He let his eyes linger for a moment, then looked back up at the elf's beautiful face. Legolas was regarding him with the smile that Imrahil loved so much, a combination of amusement and desire.

"Were you listening at the door for Neledhen's departure?" the prince asked in mock accusation.

"I have elvish ears," said Legolas succinctly.

"Ah, the ears..."

"They are at your disposal." The elf gave a tiny bow.

"And the rest?"

Legolas brought his hands to the ties holding his trousers in place. In a second the knot was undone and the garment fell to the floor. "All of it," he said.

Imrahil stood and stared. He could gaze upon his naked lover a thousand times and the sight would never become commonplace. Tonight, as so often, he felt overwhelmed by his impossible good fortune.

"Your beauty is astonishing," he said at last.

"And yours is no less so," the elf replied softly. "Will you remove your shirt?"

He fumbled with the buttons, unwilling to take his eyes off Legolas, even for a moment. When finally he flung the shirt to one side, the elf extended an arm towards him. Imrahil crossed the room silently and allowed himself to be led to the bed. There, Legolas sank back onto the crisp white sheets and pulled the prince down on top of him.

For a while they kissed with a slow, deep hunger, their bodies sliding together around the inevitable film of sweat, their hands clutching at each other as tightly as comfort would allow. As Imrahil raised his head for air he realised his eyes were moist with tears. He was fiercely aroused, of course, but at the same time filled with such an intense tenderness towards his lover that his lust was almost overshadowed.

He moved his hands to cup the elf's face, fingers burrowing into the soft hair. "What do you want?" he whispered, bringing his lips down to press them gently against a flawless cheek.

"Only to give myself to you," murmured Legolas.

With the strangeness of the night of the party still fresh in his mind, Imrahil thought he could guess what his lover was offering. Be that as it may, on this occasion he had no desire for games. All he could hope for was to communicate to Legolas some small fraction of the powerful feeling welling within him.

He began with the ears. It seemed only fitting, and besides, he had always been particularly fond of them. He had no need of their upswept points to remind him of his lover's elven nature; he lived and breathed that awareness every hour of each day he spent with Legolas. What he loved was the way the elf shivered and writhed under his tongue's caress, and the litany of gasps drawn forth by the work of his fingers. 

From the ears it was logical to progress down one side of the neck to the elf's shoulder. This drew such a delightful response that he followed it with a similar journey down the other side. Then, pushing up on his arms and shifting down the bed, he turned his attention to his lover's chest, kneading and stroking with both hands as Legolas twisted and moaned beneath him. He paused for a while to play with the pert, sensitive nipples, first rubbing with his thumbs then gently pinching, until the elf dug strong fingers into his thighs and cried out for mercy.

This was not a night for teasing, so mercy, of a sort, was what he gave. Shifting again, he pushed the pale legs wide apart and knelt between them to pay his homage. His hands pressed into the smooth flesh of the elf's inner thighs and he dipped his head. Those same strong fingers tangled in his hair as he licked twice, three times up the long, rigid shaft then paused to suckle gently at its tip.

Legolas, shuddering, whispered, "Please..." 

The feel of the hot, firm flesh in his mouth was as wonderful as the taste, and the sound of the elf's moans even more so. Imrahil could happily have spent the night engaged in this delicious pursuit, had his lover's entreaties not become more explicit.

"Imrahil, please... please take me...."

He could not deny such a heartfelt request.

The balm he smoothed over his own eager cock was scented with rose and rich spices, a powerful reminder of their exotic location. Nonetheless, as Imrahil hooked one hand behind the elf's knee to roll his hips upwards while using the other to guide himself, he experienced a vivid recollection of another time and place altogether.

It had seemed so incredible, that first night, well over a decade ago. He had thought he felt love, even then, and had not believed that any greater pleasure could exist. He had known nothing.

The prince pushed steadily inside his lover and waited a little, for both their sakes. Leaning forward on one arm, he reached with the other for Legolas's hand and brought it up close to the elf's shoulder, so he could take his weight on his elbow while still keeping their fingers intertwined. Without prompting, Legolas moved his free hand into the same position on the other side. 

Imrahil looked down at the elf, trapped and trembling beneath him. His eyes were half closed, his lips parted in a smile so sweet the man thought his heart might break.

"I love you," Imrahil murmured. Inadequate words, and hardly necessary, for surely Legolas could sense passion as strong as this.

Clasping his lover's hands tightly, the prince adjusted his position by small degrees until the elf tensed and groaned with helpless pleasure. Concentrating hard on maintaining the same angle, he began to move, fucking Legolas slowly and carefully, each stroke driving deep and with deliberate aim. Only by focusing on the elf's responses could he hope to delay the enormous pressure building inside his own body.

Legolas gripped his hands almost painfully and wrapped strong legs around his hips to urge him on, but Imrahil did not quicken his pace. After a time he dropped his body a little lower, trapping the elf's cock between their bellies and sliding damply with every thrust. This seemed to answer his lover's need; the moans became louder, more desperate, and Imrahil felt the muscles around him begin to clench tightly. 

Only when Legolas called out at his climax did Imrahil allow himself to let go. It would have been impossible to hold back with the powerful convulsions drawing him in and the sight of the elf in ecstasy below him. Half a dozen rapid thrusts were all it took, then emotion and physical pleasure seemed to reach their peak at one and the same time. The tears began to fall as he shouted his lover's name, rushing headlong into orgasm and blissful oblivion thereafter.

When Imrahil returned to his senses, he discovered that he was lying heavily on top of Legolas, with their hands still firmly linked together. His cheek was pressed tightly against the elf's and his nose half buried in a damp pillow. He disentangled his fingers first, then pushed himself up on his arms, peeling his sweat-sticky chest away from his lover's. 

Legolas gazed up at him silently for a moment. He raised a hand to brush the remaining tears from Imrahil's lashes, but did not comment on their cause.

"I love you so much," said Imrahil. It was all the explanation he could offer. 

Legolas rolled to the side, encouraging Imrahil to do the same, and wrapped soothing arms around him. "I know. I am here," he murmured.

The prince lay very still, limp and exhausted. The tenderness he felt was undiminished, but the urgency had gone, replaced by a deep and calming contentment. There would be no more lusty coupling on this night; neither his body nor his heart could stand it. He could not even find the energy to regret the fact.

Despite his weariness, Imrahil's mind, as was its habit, returned to the events of the day before he could sleep.

"Do you think Gedrinel and Kallim have settled their differences?" he asked the silent elf. "Or is the tension between them going to cast a blight on our journey?"

Legolas stirred himself a little and sighed. "Do not concern yourself with it, my love," he said. "They will reach an accommodation."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Gedrinel will do anything in his power to please you, and Kallim is too shrewd a character to allow such a matter to ruin this venture," the elf said firmly. "And if they do not manage to reach an amicable conclusion by themselves, you may be certain that I shall intervene to arrange one."

"You?" Such a course of action would hardly be characteristic of his lover.

"I have no intention of riding to S'fayyah and back with itching ears."

Imrahil laughed, and turned his head to press a kiss into the elf's shoulder. "You are wonderful," he mumbled, shutting his eyes at last.

 

********************

A note about the Haradin language.

The language spoken in this story is my own creation. Although it sounds rather similar to the Arabic of northern Egypt and Jordan, it has its own vocabulary and grammatical structure. The transliteration borrows some common conventions for writing Arabic in Latin script. Thus 'kh' is similar to the 'ch' in the Scottish word 'loch' and an apostrophe denotes a glottal stop. 'G' is pronounced as in 'get.'

Nemediyyin: Gentlemen (lit: my good men)

Khediren me'eliyya: It is a pleasure to meet you (lit: light to my eyes)

T'reffen beshriyya: The pleasure is mine (lit: and warmth to my heart)

Ten Harr'din delinah: You speak Haradin

Fateesh, sett: Only a little


	9. Chapter 9

Kallim gazed after the departing man and elf with a look of deep satisfaction on his face. "Well," he declared, "It's good to know that sometimes a hero can outdo his own reputation. They are quite marvellous, the pair of them."

Gedrinel stared at him in disbelief. "How can you act so unconcerned?" he hissed furiously.

"What are you saying?" Kallim assumed an expression of wide-eyed innocence. "We've just agreed to set off into the desert with the two most spectacularly beautiful men - well, males - in all of Arda, and you want me to be concerned? Have you lost your mind? We should be celebrating."

"Are you being deliberately stupid?" the captain growled. 

Kallim was unmoved by his anger. "Not at all, namediyya. If one of us is losing his wits, it is not I." 

"You clearly don't care one jot that you have just made a complete fool of me in front of my prince... Gods! How could you say such a thing?"

"I don't think I made you look a fool," laughed the southerner. "You did that more than adequately yourself, spluttering into your wine like a blushing maid."

The taunt was too much for Gedrinel. He slammed his hand down on the table and raised his voice. "This is ridiculous!" 

"I quite agree," replied Kallim evenly. "We should be having this conversation elsewhere, without half the gossips in Umbar craning their necks to hear. Come back to the house and speak your mind freely."

"I am not so sure that I want to come with you."

"Then that's your choice. Take yourself back to the ship and sleep on your irritation. We can talk tomorrow when you're in a more amicable frame of mind."

"And if I have no wish to talk to you?" Talking evidently wasn't going to get through to the infuriatingly smug youth. What he wanted was to grab Kallim by the shoulders and shake him, startle him, anything to wipe the grin from his face.

"Gedrinel, we will have to talk before we set off for Khimmet with your prince and his elf. Can you imagine how it would be, otherwise?"

The fact that this statement was patently true did not make Gedrinel any happier. He clenched his fists and glared at Kallim.

"Come back with me. We'll open a decent bottle and you can shout at me to your heart's content." The young man's tone was gentle, conciliatory, but his smile betrayed his lingering amusement.

Gedrinel averted his gaze, trying to think clearly. The sensible option would be to walk away and return in the morning, with a cool head, to demand his apology. Part of him was desperate to turn his back on those laughing eyes and give himself some peace. Another rather larger part knew quite well that it was an impossibility. He wouldn't be able to rest until he'd succeeded in making Kallim take him seriously.

Enough was enough.

"Very well, let's go," he said forcefully. 

The southerner was mercifully silent during the short walk to Zirri's house. He led Gedrinel through a succession of narrow streets and alleys, under arches, up and down steps, through dark, pungent passageways. Snatches of music and conversation drifted from open windows and rooftops, blending with the smells of cooking fires and spiced food hanging in the heavy night air. Through half-opened doors glimpses of verdant, lamp-lit courtyards could be seen. 

In the normal course of events Gedrinel would have been fascinated by the sights and sounds around them, strange as this neighbourhood was to him. On this night he took little notice of any of it. He stared straight ahead and concentrated only on what he might say when they reached their destination. 

Having approached by such an unfamiliar route, he did not realise that they had reached the house until Kallim stopped at a small side door. The young man knocked sharply and called, "Fadir!" then turned to speak to Gedrinel for the first time since they left the tavern. "You should use this entrance when you come to visit me in future," he said pleasantly, as if their previous conversation had not taken place.

"Huh! You assume I'll be coming back," retorted Gedrinel. 

Once the bolts were drawn and the heavily reinforced door swung open, the captain followed Kallim into the dark corridor. They did not take the stairs to the elegant roof terrace as they had done on the night of their dinner. Instead, Kallim nodded at Fadir, quietly asked him to fetch some wine and goblets, then led Gedrinel directly to his bedchamber.

The captain strode to the couch and sat silently, biding his time while Kallim lit the lamps and washed his hands and face at the table. Fadir arrived promptly with the wine, and Kallim went to the door to collect it. He did not ask if his visitor wanted a glass, but simply poured the drink and offered it with a smile. Gedrinel took the goblet and set it to one side, untouched.

"Why in Eru's name did you do it?" he asked angrily.

"Do what? Tell your prince the truth?" Kallim sat down on the edge of the bed and bent to place his own glass on the floor. He leaned back on his arms and regarded Gedrinel steadily.

"You know he is much more to me than simply my prince and liege-lord," said the captain, his voice cold. "I value him beyond price as a friend, and I respect him more than any man I know. You might have thought of that before spilling it all out."

Kallim shook his head impatiently. "Gedrinel, I wasn't just trying to appease you when I said that Imrahil would have to have me investigated, and nor was he when he agreed with me. You aren't exactly naïve, and you know this city well enough to realise that there are dozens of people who would love to tell him - in the most charmingly indirect way, of course - that he has taken up with the disgraced son of a southern aristocrat, a boy whose unnatural passions have led him into ruin. Surely you can see that it made sense for me to tell him myself?"

The captain thought for a moment before replying. "Suppose I concede that you had good reason to speak of yourself. That's your affair. I still don't see why you had to drag me into it, to make it obvious that I, that I was..."

"That you were what? Learning what it means to find pleasure with another man? Do you really believe that Imrahil and Legolas, of all people, will think any less of you for it?"

"That's not the point," Gedrinel protested.

"No, you are quite right, it isn't." Kallim shifted forward on the bed, resting his arms on his knees, to peer intently at the captain. "The true crux of the matter is your unwillingness to accept what you are and what we have been doing. Are you really so ashamed of our association?"

"It's not that I am ashamed of you. I would hardly have presented you to the prince if that was the case! It's just... I did not expect this. I could never have dreamed that it would happen, and I'm still not sure that it's right."

"It seems right enough when you have your hands on me and your cock in my mouth, doesn't it?" Kallim sat back again as he spoke, dragging his fingers up from his knees to settle them on his parted thighs.

"Stop it!" Gedrinel forced himself to look away.

"Well, something must be right, for you to want it so badly." Kallim's voice, smooth and knowing, made the captain's groin throb and his hackles rise at one and the same time. 

"You don't exactly give me a great deal of choice!" he said, furious with his body for its betrayal as much as with Kallim.

"I admit, that first time with the she'naya I was perhaps a little persuasive, but only because I knew how badly you needed some help. You didn't have to come rushing back that evening, nor to accept my invitations thereafter. You must have known where they were likely to lead. Don't deny your own part in this."

Gedrinel stared at the exasperating youth, resting so calmly on the bed as he spoke the unavoidable truth. 

"Let us settle it, then," Kallim continued when it became obvious that the captain was not going to answer. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want me, Gedrinel, and I will not trouble you again. We will ride into the desert as friends, nothing more, and my hands, my mouth, my thoughts I will keep to myself. Just tell me honestly that you don't want me."

There was a lengthy pause as Gedrinel attempted to formulate a reply. If he could simply say the words, true or not, would Kallim really leave him alone? Could he even pretend that it would make matters any better?

He listened to the faint sounds of the night as he tried to make sense of the conflicting desires in his own head. The distant reedy music, the chirping of the insects in the trees, somewhere a man shouting; it all seemed so unreal next to the dilemma that faced him in this room. Kallim was sitting very still and gazing at him expectantly. Was all of this a game to him? 

Gedrinel sighed. This impossibly confident youth had done quite enough to unman him already. On top of it all, he would not be held a coward for denying the facts that were so abundantly clear to both of them.

"I cannot say that, and if I did, you would know I was telling a lie," he said reluctantly. "You are perfectly well aware that I want you, and there is the root of the problem. I cannot understand it in myself."

"What is there to understand? Can you not just accept that your nature is more complex than you had thought, and enjoy it for what it is?" Kallim's smile was kindly, but the edge of amusement was there in his voice once more.

"It's easy for you to say that! You said yourself that you accepted your true nature years ago." Gedrinel felt some of his annoyance returning. "Do not pretend that you don't understand my concerns; you are far too intelligent for that. And you still have not answered my question. Why did you make the situation plain to the others when you knew how uncomfortable it would make me?"

"I thought it might be helpful for them to know." Kallim gave one of his characteristic shrugs.

"Might be helpful?"

"As I say."

"How do you imagine it would help?" said Gedrinel incredulously. "Help whom?"

Kallim let out a theatrical sigh and folded one leg up on the bed in front of him. He reached for his wine and took a long draught before setting the glass back down.

"Think about it for a moment," he began. "Imrahil and Legolas are lovers. All of Umbar knows it, and even if I had not been aware of the fact before our meeting, I would have realised it within seconds. They have asked you to accompany them on this romantic journey because they know that they need make no pretence in front of you. They want to be sure that the same is true of me. What am I to say? I can hardly broach the matter directly, so instead I tell them something of myself, and thus they have their assurance."

"That is all very well, but there was still no call for you to -"

"Wait, I am coming to that. Now, if I was Imrahil - or indeed, if I was Legolas, although I do not know how an elf's mind works; perhaps it is different for him - this knowledge would awaken in me a secondary concern. Your prince does not want his excursion to be ruined by the local guide developing a foolish and embarrassing attachment to his elf. He must have seen enough of such behaviour, and no doubt he will meet plenty more of it in the south. Legolas too, for Imrahil is a powerfully attractive man. I wanted them both to know that they need not worry about me, that my attentions are directed elsewhere."

"I don't know what to say to that." Gedrinel shook his head in amazement. "I can't believe you planned the whole thing."

Kallim picked up his wine once more and ran a finger around the rim of the glass. His eyes dropped to watch its progress. "I wanted you to know it, too," he said suddenly. "I could feel the way you were staring at me as I spoke to Legolas."

The captain drew a sharp breath, astonished. For a moment Kallim's self assurance had seemed to crack apart, revealing something that looked like hopeful uncertainty. Were his own feelings really of such concern to the youth? A strange unease crept through him at the thought. "You sought to put my mind at rest?" he asked.

"I did." Kallim laughed, and normality was restored. "I cannot pretend that my motives were entirely pure, however. Teasing you is far too enjoyable. If we had stayed longer, I would have made you sweat in earnest."

"Have you no shame?" Gedrinel couldn't stop the flush of heat to his face, nor the sudden rush of blood to his cock at the young man's words. 

"A little, but I am always prepared to set it aside in pursuit of pleasure." Kallim grinned broadly, then showed his tongue, running it between his teeth very deliberately. 

As always, Gedrinel's response to the gesture was immediate, physical and quite beyond his control. He fidgeted on the couch and cleared his throat. "And it pleases you to cause me discomfort?" he asked.

"Absolutely. I'll make you squirm any way I can." 

Without warning, something shifted inside Gedrinel, pushing aside a layer of anxious embarrassment to expose a darker, more demanding emotion altogether. 

"You should learn some respect!" he said. The words came out in the tone he would use to call a crowded foredeck to attention. 

Kallim recognised the change at once. "Maybe you should teach me." Placing his glass on the floor, he got to his feet and moved towards Gedrinel. He stood with hands on hips, his face full of challenge, his eyes brimming with dark promise.

"Maybe I will." Gedrinel likewise rose and took a step forward, bringing them to within arms' reach of each other. 

This was not what he had intended, but the liquid fire flooding his veins carried with it a kind of certainty. It was useless to pretend that he didn't know what he wanted when his body was making it so clear. Perhaps taking what he needed would serve a double purpose, by satisfying his gut-wrenching desire and putting an end to Kallim's insolence once and for all.

He brought his hands to the buckle at his waist, aware of the huge brown eyes following the movement. 

"What are you going to do?" Kallim's excitement was audible in his voice. "Take off your belt and use it to give me a good thrashing? Or are you finally going to ram that great thick cock of yours up inside me, and fuck me so hard that I can feel it in my throat? If it's to be the latter, I sincerely hope you -"

"Be quiet!" Gedrinel spat out, surprising himself. Kallim, no less astounded, gaped at him open-mouthed. Without stopping to think, the captain shot one arm forward and grabbed at the young man's crotch, none too gently. As expected, Kallim was already hard. Gedrinel squeezed, and grinned at Kallim's gasp of pained pleasure. "No more clever comments," he ordered. "Just unclothe yourself and get on the bed."

He stood back and watched intently as Kallim obeyed him. The embroidered tunic came off first, flung to the side with careless abandon. Then, his eyes never leaving Gedrinel's face, Kallim unfastened his trousers and pushed them down, stepping out of the crumpled fabric to stand before him naked.

Gedrinel had tried to avoid more than a sideways glance at Kallim when they had undressed together at the gymnasium before taking to the baths. This was his first opportunity to look undisturbed, and he made the most of it. For a moment neither of them moved or spoke.

Kallim was certainly worth staring at. There was something almost feminine about his lush thick hair, the gold rings in his ears, his full lips. Set against his compact body, all well-developed muscle under the brown skin, they made a contrast that Gedrinel found almost unbearably arousing. He let his eyes linger for a while on the unmistakeable evidence of Kallim's maleness, and heard him inhale a loud, shaky breath. 

"How do you want me?" Kallim asked, edging towards the bed.

"I want you," said Gedrinel slowly, "whichever way means you will feel it most."

"Sirek! You're going to make me come before you even touch me," the southerner groaned, climbing onto the mattress on his hands and knees. 

"That's not a bad idea," replied Gedrinel, his own cock pushing against his breeches at the notion, "but I don't think I want to wait that long." 

Kallim made an incomprehensible noise and settled himself in the middle of the huge bed, his rear presented towards the captain, knees apart. Gedrinel stared for a moment at the unthinkably erotic sight, then took a step closer, his hands clawing at the fastenings of his clothes.

Not in my nature, he had said, and now here he was, moments from spilling himself just looking at this man's arse and thinking about what he was going to do to it. He stroked himself hard, three, four times, then abruptly stopped and shut his eyes, breathing deeply. 

"Gedrinel?" Kallim's voice was low, almost hesitant. "Are you going to...?"

"Fuck you?" the captain said, opening his eyes and moving to the side of the bed. "Yes, I'm going to fuck you. Hard enough for you to think twice before you make fun of me again."

"Khimeen wa'adiyyin!" whispered Kallim. It sounded like a prayer.

As Gedrinel clambered onto the bed, Kallim recovered himself sufficiently to stretch across to the night table and take hold of a small stone jar. He looked over his shoulder as he held it up.

"Use this," he said shortly, "or you're likely to hurt yourself, too."

Gedrinel reached forward and accepted the offering, forbearing to mention that he was not quite such a novice in these matters as Kallim appeared to think. There had been that strumpet up in the north, and another in Dol Amroth's most exclusive brothel, years ago, before he'd discovered a more refined approach to pleasure in Zirri's company. 

Then again, on none of the previous occasions had he felt anything like the lust that was coursing through him now, as he coated his burning cock with the cool lotion and shuffled closer to Kallim. However much he had been trying to deny it, he wanted this more than he had ever wanted any of the others, even Zirri herself. What did that make him? The question lingered for a second, but became irrelevant as he finally grasped Kallim's hips and pushed himself home, with a shout he could not suppress. It would take a stronger man than Gedrinel to hold on to his rational doubt in the face of such extreme physical sensation.

It had surely not been so hot before, nor so impossibly tight. There had been no noises like the ones Kallim was making, desperate moans that could equally well be caused by pleasure or pain. It made no difference; whatever their source, they were calling directly to Gedrinel's blood and bypassing his brain completely. He dug his fingers into Kallim's flesh and slammed himself all the way inside, over and again, grunting and biting his lip at the delirious agony of it.

It had never felt anything like this.

And Kallim... propped on his elbows, head down, black hair spreading across crimson sheets, Kallim was pushing up to meet him just as hard as he was pushing in. Arching his back, he was tilting his hips higher to take Gedrinel's cock deeper still. His moans were becoming shouts, no longer ambiguous, and forming themselves into words.

"Ya sirekki, Gedrinel! Ten ired na jiwaal... enormous... you're tearing me apart... don't stop!"

"No..." Gedrinel muttered, struggling to maintain his own punishing rhythm, to match the brutal force of each thrust against the last as his hands slipped across damp skin. He paused for a moment to shift his knees a little, taking some of the strain off his thighs. Letting go of Kallim's hips, he leaned forward to take his weight on one arm, reaching round with the other to grab at the southerner's cock.

Kallim raised his head with a great keening cry that made every hair on Gedrinel's body stand on end, despite the heat. Growling deep in his throat, he redoubled his efforts, pounding into Kallim as if nothing else existed. His hand couldn't keep pace with his hips, but it didn't seem to matter; Kallim was shouting his approval and writhing like a thing possessed, pushing first back onto Gedrinel's cock then forward into his fierce caress, dragging the captain with him in the headlong rush of pleasure.

And then Kallim was still, tensing, screaming some unintelligible obscenity as he tossed his head and reared up against Gedrinel, shooting hot liquid through his fingers and across the sheets. Gedrinel stared down half-seeing at the sweat streaked back, the wild tangle of hair, his own cock buried between the taut brown buttocks. He felt the muscles tightening around him like a vice and let out a cry of his own as he came, so hard that there could be no controlling it. Spasm after spasm wracked his whole frame as he pumped into the shuddering body beneath him. He slumped forward onto Kallim as his arm gave way, and lay across him, gasping and uncomprehending, until the last of the tremors subsided, leaving him somewhere between ecstasy and utter bewilderment.

They did not speak as they drew apart, although both grunted with discomfort when Gedrinel pulled out and rolled off to the side. The captain was sticky with sweat and his hair, fallen loose from its binding, was plastered to his face and catching in his mouth. He brushed it back behind an ear with unsteady fingers, and opened his eyes to look at Kallim.

The southerner had turned on his side towards Gedrinel. He lay in a casual sprawl of limbs, the very picture of debauched contentment with his hair tumbling about him and a smile of serene satisfaction on his face. Raising a hand to Gedrinel's cheek he swirled his nails softly through the captain's beard, staring all the while into his eyes.

"I had no idea," Gedrinel murmured after a time, uncertain why he felt the need to make such an admission.

"I don't suppose you had," replied Kallim, surprisingly gentle. "But I knew it would be astonishing."

"I didn't hurt you?" 

"No more than I wanted you to." A flicker of mischief briefly shaded Kallim's smile as his fingers trailed along the captain's neck, through the hairs on his chest, and down further still, making Gedrinel shiver. "You really are enormous," he added, "and quite a brute underneath all that respectable good sense. Will you stay here tonight?"

It was something of an academic question, Gedrinel realised. The last of his strength seemed to have drained out of him, along with most of his rational thought. He probably couldn't make it down to the docks now if he tried. "Mmmph," was all he could manage.

Kallim slid a little closer and pressed warm lips to the skin of his arm. 

"I'm stilled annoyed with you," Gedrinel said suddenly, but without any heat in his words. "Don't think I've forgotten how you showed me up."

"Then you will have to give me another lesson in respect," Kallim grinned. "Just don't make me go through the whole of this evening's performance every time I need a fuck."

"You're not saying..." Gedrinel began a protest, but rapidly decided that it would involve far too much effort. He allowed his eyes to slide shut and his mind to drift. Kallim's shift across and off the bed roused him briefly, but he sank back gratefully to the pillows at the young man's words, "No, do not disturb yourself; let me take care of it." Moments later he was sighing contentedly as careful hands bathed him with cool water and dried him with soft towels. 

A week ago I lay in a room on the other side of this courtyard and allowed Zirri to perform this same service for me, he thought, in the last seconds of consciousness before sleep claimed him. My life has become strange indeed; strange beyond all imaginings.

********************

 

The dream fled as soon as he opened his eyes, leaving only agreeably erotic fragments of memory, and the very real hand resting on his belly. As he lay blinking at the ceiling in the morning light, trying to recall where he was, the hand moved down. By the time he had worked out whose arm it was attached to, it was already fondling his cock with gentle insistence, echoing the pleasurable sensations that had engulfed him before waking. He tried to move, pushing up onto his elbows, but a whisper in his ear urged him back down. 

"Wait, my captain, let me do this for you."

Kallim was nothing if not efficient. In a matter of seconds, Gedrinel progressed from mild sleepy arousal to hard, gasping need, as clever fingers played across his balls then squeezed and stroked up and down the length of him with just the right amount of pressure. The captain let it happen for a while, then muttered an insincere protest and made another half-hearted attempt to stir himself. 

Kallim, quick and cat-like, moved to straddle his legs and grinned down at him, all invitingly smooth skin, bright teeth and untamed hair. The shadow of stubble gave his face a more darkly exotic look than ever. "Just stay where you are and enjoy it," he said.

There was little chance of Gedrinel doing anything else as Kallim's thumb dragged up the underside of his cock and circled around its tip, while his fingers curled into a rather tighter hold. The captain closed his eyes again and gave himself over to the sensation, his own groans gradually drowning out Kallim's murmurs of encouragement. His end was fast approaching.

"Look at me, Gedrinel." 

He did as he was asked, gazing up with bleary eyes into Kallim's intense stare. In answer, the young man brought his other hand down between Gedrinel's legs to cup his balls, squeezing and rolling them gently. Caught between the delicate touch below and the powerful sliding grip on his cock, Gedrinel was unable to hold himself back. He let out a yell as he came in a great hot rush, spilling himself shamelessly under Kallim's approving scrutiny.

Gedrinel lay panting and twitching as the southerner wiped fingers across his chest, then raised them, dripping with thick fluid, for his inspection. He could only watch, fascinated, as Kallim lifted his hand to his own mouth and gave a lazy smile before licking his fingers clean, excruciatingly slowly and with great deliberation. Gedrinel's belly tried to turn itself inside out as he observed the display.

Kallim tongued a last drop from his lower lip with every sign of pleasure. "Good morning, Captain," he said.

Gedrinel grunted something that approximated to a greeting. He cleared his throat. "If you had let me move, I could have..." he muttered vaguely.

"That didn't please you?" 

Gedrinel snorted. "Of course it did. But you-"

"Oh, do not worry yourself on my account. I do nothing unless I enjoy it." Kallim grinned and stretched his arms behind his head. If his erection was anything to judge by, he was speaking the truth. "We will save the rest for later. I have to go out in a moment, but I wanted to watch you come before I leave." He leaned down and placed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss just above Gedrinel's navel. "And to taste you," he added wickedly.

Gedrinel prised his fingers from the bunched-up sheets and transferred them to Kallim's thighs. "You have to go out?"

"Yes. I'm meeting a man down at the western gate before his caravan leaves for the north. Don't worry, it's only a business affair; some trinkets I'd intended to sell here, but which will travel well to S'fayyah. I'm sorry to leave you, but I made the arrangement days ago and I cannot afford to miss him. He's giving me an exceptionally good deal."

"It's no matter," said Gedrinel, aware that his voice sounded somewhat flat.

Kallim sprang from the bed and stretched himself again. "Stay here," he suggested. "Is there anything that you must do this morning?"

"I will need to be at the Lynx an hour or two after midday," replied Gedrinel, "but until then I am free."

"Then stay, rest a little, and take your breakfast in the courtyard when you are ready. I should return in about an hour and a half, if all goes well, to drag you back to my bed. Will you wait for me? I'll make it worth your while, I promise you."

Gedrinel stared up at Kallim as the young man tipped his head back and ran the fingers of both hands through his hair. "I will wait," he said.

 

********************

 

By the time Gedrinel surfaced from the cool gloom of Kallim's chamber, the sun was climbing and the northern quarter of the courtyard was bright. He paused for a moment to admire the dappled light on the riotously coloured flowers, then made for the table by the fountain. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't register Zirri's presence until he was almost upon her.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise..." he stuttered in his confusion.

Zirri looked up at him with a smile of reassuring welcome. "No, do not apologise! Kallim told me you were here; it is such a pleasure to see you. Join me, please."

She gestured to the chair opposite her and he sat, slowly, taking in her changed appearance. She was dressed in a simple white robe and her face was unpainted, her hair loose. No jewels hung from her ears or neck, nor graced her long, elegant fingers. She looked older and more stately than he had ever seen her, but certainly no less beautiful to his eyes.

"Help yourself to the food," Zirri said, indicating the dishes and plates set out on the low stone table. "And I shall prepare the coffee for you."

Gedrinel reached for a bowl and spoon, and ladled out a modest portion of fruit and curds.

"In the thirteen years that I have been sleeping under this roof," he said wonderingly, "I have never before taken breakfast with you."

"In all those thirteen years we have never before met on such an equal footing," replied Zirri gently. 

"And it pleases you that we should do so now?"

"How should it not? I like you too well, Gedrinel, not to wish for your friendship. I hope it may only continue to flourish." As she spoke, Zirri stirred the coffee grounds and water together in the small, long-handled pot, then set it on the burner.

Gedrinel murmured his agreement, while thinking fast. Was Zirri relieved to meet him on these new terms? Had his sexual demands really been such a burden to her, or was this simply a matter of separation of her personal and professional life? Was it her assumption that such an arrangement was now permanently behind them? The questions disturbed him, but he knew that they were ones he could never ask.

"It has been a busy week," Zirri was saying, "for me, at least. I had my good seat at the ceremony, as it turned out."

"I didn't see you there." He was thankful for her choice of a neutral subject.

"I was hardly in a position to advertise my presence," Zirri laughed, "seeing that I was a guest of one of Umbar's more prominent families. There are times when the veil has its uses. I had a fine place, three rows back on the left side of the platform."

Gedrinel thought for a moment, then exclaimed, "The Bereshis? You attended as their guest?"

"The old man has a razor-sharp approach to business, but his heart is true," Zirri said. "He was one of my first clients when I arrived in the city, and he still visits me every week to discuss the ways of the world. His wife died young and he did not have the heart to re-marry; no doubt that is why his family are more tolerant of me than most would be."

"So, thanks to Amer Bereshi you were right in the thick of things. I am glad for you."

"Yes, and I have to say that you severely understated the case when you spoke to me of our royal visitors. Prince Imrahil is surely the most handsome man I have ever set eyes on, and Prince Legolas - well, he is simply beautiful; there is no other word for it. Either one of them alone would be enough to turn the most jaded of heads, but together they are positively dangerous."

Gedrinel paused with his spoon half way to his mouth. "Indeed," he agreed dryly, "I could hardly dispute that."

"It is little wonder that Kallim is beside himself with excitement at the prospect of your journey together," Zirri said fondly. "It was generous of you to recommend him to your prince."

"Hardly generous," Gedrinel demurred. "When Prince Imrahil described the type of man he was looking for, it was clear that Kallim was perfect for the task." 

"None the less, it is a wonderful opportunity for him. I could almost wish to be in his shoes, that I might accompany you myself."

"Oh, Zirri, I'm sorry." Gedrinel had heard the note of genuine wistfulness in her voice. 

"No, do not be sorry. When Kallim returns, I shall prevail upon him to tell me of your adventures, down to every last detail."

Then I can only hope that he is wise enough to leave out some parts of the tale, the captain reflected, stretching across to the large glass bowl to serve himself another portion of the deliciously sharp-sweet curds. He snorted a brief laugh.

Zirri, meanwhile, had taken the coffee from the heat and was pouring it in a thin arcing stream into a tiny white cup. She handed it to Gedrinel with a thoughtful smile.

"You must remember that Kallim is rather younger than he appears to be," she said quietly, "and in spite of all that has happened to him, he still has an enormous capacity for admiration."

Gedrinel stared at her, suddenly aware that she was not talking of Imrahil and Legolas. She was offering him an opening he could not ignore. "I don't understand," he began tentatively, "why he should have shown any interest in me."

"Ah, but you cut an impressive figure in nautical and commercial circles, my friend! I am sure that Kallim would not object to me telling you that you had come to his notice some time ago; only circumstance prevented him from introducing himself."

"But why..." Gedrinel tried again, choosing his words carefully. "Why should he seek the friendship of one such as myself, knowing that I have always chosen the, um, company of women?"

Zirri laughed a little, but her face was sad. "If you knew more of Kallim's past," she said, "perhaps you would not need to ask that question. As a youngster, he was quite startlingly lovely; the attention he attracted was not always of the best sort. There is a type of man who pays court to such boys, a type Kallim has seen far too much of. It is no wonder that he seeks something altogether different now."

"Ah." Gedrinel could not think of a more intelligent response, nor did he wish to dwell on the uncomfortable implications of her comment. He drained his coffee cup and reached for a glass of water to wash the bitter fluid down.

"And you?" he asked after a moment, "Did you know, when you sent Kallim to me, that I would be unable to turn him away?"

"I suspected as much," she replied, meeting his eyes.

"Then how did you know something so fundamental about me, of which I myself was unaware?"

"Oh, Gedrinel." She turned her head to the side.

"Tell me! It's the least you can do."

Zirri sighed. "I have always known that you needed something you would not find with me, nor indeed with any other of my sex. There is a reason why a fine man such as yourself remains alone after all these years, and there are many small signs - do not ask me to explain them."

Gedrinel stared at her, open mouthed. What in all of Arda was she talking about? Of course, she knew nothing of Rowenna - that was all over long before he had first visited Umbar, and he had spoken of it to nobody. But he had always been clear about his reasons for refusing to take a wife.... And small signs? What could she mean? Before he could ask, she leaned towards him and placed a gentle hand on his arm. 

"I hope you will forgive me," she said. It is my business to know the minds of men."

"Whereas for me, it is purely a matter of pleasure," called a laughing voice from the side of the courtyard.

"Kallim!" Zirri's face lit up with happiness.

Kallim strode across the stone flags and bent to kiss Zirri on the cheek. Then he glanced across to Gedrinel, his eyes glittering. 

"Good morning to you both, once again," he said, lifting a glass of water from the table and settling on the third seat between them.

"Will you eat?" asked Zirri.

"No, thank you. I shared a plate of eggs and olives with old Yusaan," Kallim smiled, "at his insistence, naturally."

He had also found the time for a shave, Gedrinel noted. Perhaps the night's activities had coloured his vision, but Kallim seemed more handsome than ever. His face was glowing with health and the sunlight caught his glossy hair. The dark red of his tunic suited him well, somehow accentuating his strong features. In spite of himself, Gedrinel sat and stared.

Kallim was recounting to Zirri the outline of his morning's business. From a leather satchel at his side, he drew forth a small cloth pouch and poured its contents onto the table for her perusal. When she exclaimed in delight over a delicate jet pendant, his response was immediate.

"It is yours," he said warmly.

"Oh, you should not..."

"No, I mean it," he insisted, pressing the piece into her hand. "Yusaan gave me such a deal, I can well afford a small gift for the mistress of the house."

Zirri rose gracefully to her feet, still holding the pendant. "You are too kind for your own good," she said, bending to kiss the top of Kallim's head. "Thank you, my dear. And now I must ask you to excuse me; I have a busy day ahead and must prepare myself."

Both men gazed after her as she walked unhurriedly into the house, then turned to face each other. 

"Well, Captain Gedrinel," said Kallim wickedly, a grin spreading across his face.

Gedrinel could feel his nerves tingling as he held the young man's blatantly suggestive stare. His heart was thumping, and his cock was already leaping for joy. "Well?" he managed.

"Have you eaten enough?" Kallim enquired in an innocent tone at odds with his eyes.

"Yes, thank you, I have," Gedrinel replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Then come inside with me," Kallim said. "I believe I may have need of your tuition. Of a sudden, my mind is full of scandalously disrespectful thoughts."

 

********************

 

Gedrinel heard the noon bells sound in the distance as he lay sprawled across Kallim, a heap of sweaty, sticky limbs surrounding a core of exhausted disbelief. The last orgasm seemed to have drained the very life out of him.

"Was it good for you, doing it like that?" Kallim murmured, stroking his ear with a lazy thumb.

"Urrmph," grunted Gedrinel.

"I like to see your face," the southerner continued. "The moment before you come, you look almost terrified. It's enough to finish me completely."

"Stop it," the captain protested, fearful that any more such talk would finish him, and not necessarily in a pleasant way. 

"So, is it better like this, or the way we did it last night?"

With a phenomenal effort, Gedrinel pushed himself up and to the side, landing on his back on a relatively cool and dry part of the sheet. "I couldn't possibly answer that," he said.

"I suppose not. A single occasion is hardly sufficient basis for a fair comparison," Kallim persisted. "When we have tried each a dozen times, I shall ask you again."

"Gods.." Gedrinel blinked hard in an attempt to clear his head. For some inconceivable reason, a picture of the vile Nekhren and his insinuating leer swam into his vision. He rolled back up onto an elbow and peered down at Kallim.

"If we are going to do this, we are going to do it properly," he said suddenly, his tone fierce. "I will not share your favours with other men, nor with pretty boys and their come-hither glances."

"My masterful captain, so delightfully possessive all of a sudden!"

"You may laugh, but I mean what I say."

He had expected the southerner to challenge him, not to greet his pronouncement with an expression of unabashed delight.

"You want me to be exclusively yours?" Kallim breathed. "What makes you think that I would even look at other men, now that I have you?"

"They will certainly look at you," Gedrinel countered.

"Maybe, and if they come close enough, I will take great pleasure in telling them exactly why they should look elsewhere. Trust me, all that I want is right here."

As if to seal the agreement, Kallim brought his hand to the back of the captain's neck and tried to urge him down. Instinctively, Gedrinel stiffened, resisting the young man's obvious intention. Kallim only smiled at him, and shook his head minutely.

"Oh no, Gedrinel, not again," he said. "If we are going to do this, we will do it properly, as you say, and that means you will have to stop pushing me away. Kiss me, and show me that there is meaning behind your forceful words."

The moment drew out long and still between them, as Gedrinel tried to control his anxious excitement. Kallim did not attempt to move him again, but dropped his hand back to his side and waited, gazing up at him, serenely patient. Eventually he parted his lips a little and wetted them with his tongue; and at last Gedrinel found his courage.

At first he simply placed his mouth over Kallim's, pressing gently, tentatively, against flesh that was as plump and soft as it looked. But when Kallim flicked his tongue out, teasing at the sensitive skin of Gedrinel's lips, the captain's self restraint crumbled.

Turning his head a little for better access, he plunged into Kallim's hot, welcoming mouth. There he tasted a tantalising combination of sweet spices and coffee, and felt the southerner's tongue pushing and swirling against his own. It was a desperately arousing sensation. His fingers raked through thick hair to clutch at Kallim's head, pulling him closer still, as if by crushing their lips together to the point of pain he might satisfy the violent hunger that was surging through him.

Without breaking the kiss, Gedrinel shifted on the bed, bringing a leg across Kallim's so that each could grind against the other. His own cock, weary and fragile as it had seemed, had sprung to life once more, and he was vaguely aware of Kallim's pressing hard against him. The southerner was arching and moaning beneath him, nails digging into his back, but Gedrinel did not stop his frenzied exploration. He was beyond self control, driven only by his frantic need to possess.

When he finally drew away, gasping for much needed air, Gedrinel looked down at Kallim and struggled to collect his thoughts. The southerner appeared to be lost for words. A thin trickle of red was visible at the corner of his mouth, his eyes were wide, and the expression they held was one of awe. Gedrinel listened to his own blood singing, and suddenly understood with perfect clarity why he had tried so hard to avoid this moment.

From here, there could be no turning back.

 

********************  
END OF PART ONE  
********************

 

namediyya: my friend  
Sirek!: Fuck!  
Khimeen wa'adiyyin: Gods! (lit. Spirits of my forefathers!)  
Ya sirekki, Gedrinel! Ten ired na jiwaal...: Fuck me, Gedrinel! You are so huge...


	10. Chapter 10

Imrahil stared out along the parched red road, screwing up his eyes against the glare of the reflected midday sun. Their way led straight and unbroken to the distant, hazy horizon. They had met several small groups of travellers since leaving the city at dawn, but currently had the landscape to themselves. And such a landscape it was! Apart from the gnarled, thorny trees, of a type quite unfamiliar to the prince, the occasional withered shrubs were the only living things to be seen. A thin layer of orange dust seemed to cover everything. How long had it been since this place had seen rain? The sky was so intensely blue, it was almost painful to regard, and the air was dry enough to sear the inside of his lungs. If this was the semi-desert before the real thing began, they could expect an unforgettable experience once they reached the oases and the Sea of Sand beyond.

The prince pulled his scarf up across his mouth and looked across at Legolas, riding straight and tall beside him. The elf wore the southern headdress of white cotton as if he had been born to it. His shining hair was hidden, but his fine features were only emphasised, and the eyes that met Imrahil's were as piercingly blue as the sky.

A burst of laughter from the pair ahead of them drew the prince's attention away from his lover. "I believe our friends have reached an amicable agreement, even without your intervention," he commented, gazing at Gedrinel and Kallim, who rode some fifty yards in front.

"Aye, that is one way to describe it," the elf chuckled. "Although I am still aware of a great tension between them."

"And are your ears troubling you?"

"My ears are perfectly comfortable, thank you." Legolas replied with a wry smile. "It is a rather different sort of tension, and it affects rather different parts."

"What can you mean?" Imrahil attempted an innocent face.

"My blood always runs hot when I am with you," said Legolas in a low voice. "But in the presence of these two, I fear that it might boil within my veins, since they generate such heat in the air around them."

"My poor elf! Can I offer you any assistance?" Imrahil made a great show of scanning the surrounding country for a sheltered spot. "I can see nowhere for us to retire into the shade, that I may help to cool you down."

Legolas snorted with mirth. "If I had you alone in a private place, I doubt that the temperature would fall," he said.

In all honesty, Imrahil could not disagree. 

They rode in silence for a while, and watched as Kallim leant across to Gedrinel to touch his arm, then headed away at a gallop. The captain let out an indignant shout before breaking into laughter and setting off in hot pursuit. 

Imrahil grinned. He had known Gedrinel for thirty years, and had never seen him so animated, like a young man discovering the pleasures of love for the first time. For his friend's happiness alone he owed a debt of gratitude to their charming southern guide. Indeed, Kallim had done nothing to diminish Imrahil's initial positive impression of him. He had watched carefully for any signs of duplicity or self interest, but had seen none. Surely, Brenhir had got it all wrong.

********************

 

The day after the meeting with Kallim and Gedrinel in the tavern, the governor had invited the prince to his private study to take a glass of fine brandy. The evening meal had finished, and Legolas had once again accompanied Lady Mariél into the gardens, with Farongil traipsing along behind. 

"Well, you have certainly made an interesting choice,” Brenhir said without preamble, handing the goblet to Imrahil.

"What do you mean?" 

"Kallim Almajarram as your guide and guard? If you had asked me, I could have found someone a little less colourful for you." 

Imrahil was taken aback by the note of disapproval in Brenhir's voice. He attempted not to show it, however, and kept his tone light. "Should his colourful nature concern me? I see it rather as a distinct advantage. He will make for entertaining company on the road."

"I suppose you do know who you are getting involved with?" asked the governor doubtfully.

"I am aware that Kallim is a clever young man, handy with the sword by all accounts, and hailing from a good southern line."

Brenhir snorted. "Aye, and his father threw him out because he couldn't stay away from the older men. A terrible scandal for the family, and that counts for a lot here, even more than it would at home."

"A sad business," offered Imrahil smoothly.

"One that could have been avoided if the boy had been prepared to keep things quiet. I only hope he isn't going to prove an embarrassment to you."

"I have no fears on that score," said Imrahil promptly. "We found Kallim to be extremely shrewd, and refreshingly direct. He assured us of his discretion, and I am inclined to believe him."

The governor narrowed his eyes. "Well, I hope you won't take it too far. I take it that you know he lives with his aunt?"

"Yes, Zirri, the courtesan. She is said to be a lovely and intelligent woman."

"Lovely, intelligent, and in bed with half of Umbar - the more influential half, at that," Brenhir replied sharply. "I should watch what I say around Kallim if I were you. You don't know what might get back to her, and from there it could go anywhere."

Imrahil could feel his brow tightening into a frown. "Gedrinel trusts her completely, and I have faith in his judgement."

"Yes, but your captain's not exactly unbiased in this one. I gather he's been visiting Zirri for years, and I doubt that they've simply been discussing the price of wool. A whore's a whore, at the end of the day, and every secret has its price. You'd be wise to be careful."

"What is a whore but a woman who has fallen on hard times and has no other means of supporting herself? I am astonished that you take such a harsh view of these matters." Imrahil had always considered Brenhir to be a pragmatist, realistic in his approach to moral questions. This kind of judgement did not sit well on him. There had to be something behind it.

"The ways of this city have made me wary enough," said the governor, shaking his head. "Men are fools around beautiful women, and Zirri is certainly that."

"That does not necessarily mean she is corrupt, nor her nephew," replied Imrahil slowly. He regarded his goblet for a moment, then turned his gaze back to Brenhir. "Have you even met Kallim?" he asked.

"No, our paths haven't crossed, and I cannot see how they are likely to do so." 

"Yet you seem to know a great deal about him, and about Gedrinel, also. Is it your practice to seek out information on all my people who visit your city?" Imrahil allowed a hint of sharpness into his tone.

Brenhir merely laughed, shaking his head. "Ah, my friend, you don't understand how things work here. There's no need for me to seek out the knowledge when it comes looking for me. Only today I received a petitioner eager to tell me of your assignation in the tavern last night. One who is potentially quite dangerous, to boot."

"And who might that be?" The prince placed his goblet on the table and leaned forward to stare at the governor intently.

"A fellow called Nekhren Levardin," Brenhir replied, his distaste apparent. "Nasty piece of work, but rich and well-connected; I have to make a show of listening to him, at least. Ostensibly, he came to talk about land rights, but it didn't take him terribly long to get round to the real reason for his visit." 

"I take it he disapproves of my association with Kallim?"

"Oh, nothing quite so definite!" Brenhir raised his brows expressively. "He was simply concerned that you should be under no illusions about your new acquaintance."

Imrahil thought for a moment before replying. He had no wish to offend the governor, but at the same time he was not about to let some local troublemaker interfere with his arrangements. "And you have dutifully passed those concerns on to me, for which I thank you," he said placatingly. "I have heard all you have to say and taken note of it, but I have no intention of changing my plans. In truth, I have taken quite a liking to the boy, and believe him to be an asset to our party, whatever sorry stories may attach themselves to his name. In addition, Legolas has confidence in him, and I have never known his assessment of a man's character to be anything but accurate."

Brenhir conceded the latter point, at least. "Well, you're right there," he said. "I wouldn't want to try and hide anything from Legolas. Does he actually read minds, or is that just the impression he gives?"

Imrahil smiled. "He can, if he chooses to, although to varying degrees depending on the person concerned. Generally he tries to avoid such intrusion into another's privacy."

The governor nodded, seemingly reassured. "Aye, he would. He's nothing if not noble in his intentions. Rather a good thing too, eh?"

Their talk had moved on to more neutral matters then, but the sour taste had remained in Imrahil's mouth throughout the rest of the evening.

********************

 

The sun was well past its zenith when a cluster of low red buildings came into sight. As they approached the settlement, Imrahil made out three or four ramshackle structures, built of mud brick and either half finished or half collapsed. To the sides and behind were a few small fields with rows of stunted crops. A ragged donkey and a cow with sunken sides stood motionless in the shade of a group of palms. The trees were the sign of a fresh water source, Kallim explained.

"The kaadin trees we saw all along the road have very deep roots and can survive where the water is far beneath the ground. Palms like these will only grow where there is a well or spring. We must stop here to refill our water skins and to eat, if the idea pleases you."

Imrahil, gazing about him, privately wondered what fare might be offered in such surroundings. It was quite clear that the inhabitants of this wretched spot must struggle even to feed themselves with the fruits of such poor soil. 

Apparently Kallim read the doubt on his face. "It will be simple food, but wholesome, and the kitchen is reasonably clean. These folk make more of a living from hungry travellers than they could ever do from the earth. It is quite safe to eat here, but take my advice and do not visit the latrine; you would not find it a pleasant experience. There are plenty of trees along our route for that purpose." 

Gedrinel grimaced at Kallim's direct speech, but Imrahil laughed. "How lucky we are to have you with us," he said.

It soon became obvious that Imrahil's worries were quite unfounded. The building nearest the road had an open court to the front, designed to receive visitors. Shaded by a network of wooden beams and climbing vines, it was a pleasant enough space, with simple benches grouped around wide tables to either side of the entrance. 

A weather-beaten man of indeterminate age, wrapped in a robe and turban of faded blue, hurried forth from the house to meet them. He shouted in a harsh nasal voice over his shoulder to a thin, nut-brown boy, who approached shyly and took the reins of Kallim's horse as the southerner dismounted. A long series of greetings were exchanged, and Kallim explained their needs, his gestures making the meaning of the unfamiliar words quite clear. 

Their mounts were duly placed in the boy's care, and the blue-clad man bowed low to each of them in turn, his eyes lingering curiously on Imrahil and especially Legolas. They had agreed before setting out that Kallim should always introduce them as Endariel and Nemerin, merchants from the north on a pleasure trip; from the expression on their host's face it would seem that the explanation was somewhat insufficient. The man returned Gedrinel's confident greeting with a smile, but his gaze came back to the prince and the elf time and again.

Settling themselves around one of the low tables, the travellers glanced at each other.

"Does he believe our tale?" Imrahil asked.

"He's happy enough with me, but he hasn't a notion what you are, and as for Legolas..." Gedrinel nodded apologetically to the elf. 

"It is inevitable that people should be curious," Kallim shrugged. "I am sure you will find their hospitality is only the warmer for it. Does it bother you greatly?"

Even as they spoke, a wizened old woman, swathed in black, appeared in the doorway and stared at them without pretence. Imrahil met her glittering eyes and nodded, at which she brought her hand to her wrinkled forehead and mumbled something that could have been an invocation. Her gaze slid across to Legolas, and rested there. 

The elf, with his back partly turned towards the house, was reassuring Kallim. "It is not a problem; as you say, such a reaction is only to be expected. Is it considered impolite to eat with one's head covered, here?" Of all of them, Legolas was the only one still wearing his scarf.

"According to custom, the rifaayek should be removed at table," replied Kallim. "But you are a foreigner; you may do as you wish and nobody will think more of it."

"I would not wish to offend," said Legolas with a gentle smile. He reached for the end of the cloth and untucked it, unwinding the long strip quickly and neatly. 

Imrahil frowned as the elf's pale gold braids came into view. True, his lover's hair was a beautiful sight, but it was hardly likely to make them any less conspicuous. Sure enough, their host and the old woman had broken into furious chattering as they stared in amazement. Kallim, grinning, called across to them and drew their attention to himself. Perhaps he reminded them of the purpose of the visit, as both soon disappeared through the open doorway to continue their conversation within.

"What were they saying?" asked Imrahil.

"They are wondering what manner of creature Legolas may be, and whether he is of this earth at all," the youth replied, clearly enjoying himself. "I think they suspect him to be a divine spirit."

If they only knew what Legolas had been doing to him that very morning, barely an hour before the travellers' departure from the city, they might well think again, Imrahil reflected. He was still slightly sore, and today's ride was not the most comfortable he had ever known. The heat, the exotic location, or perhaps the combination of the two, seemed to be making the elf more inventively amorous than ever. Imrahil was certainly not going to complain, however uncomfortable the aftermath. He brought his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat to cover the grin forming on his face of its own accord. 

Evidently the prince had not been discreet enough. When he looked across the table at Legolas, he found one blond eyebrow arched in his direction and a smile playing at the corners of his lover's mouth. He turned to Gedrinel and made an innocuous comment about the local scenery before he could embarrass himself further. With luck, the flush on his face might be attributed to the scorching sun.

Before long his companions were distracted by the reappearance of their host, carrying a large tray with an array of drinking vessels upon it. With exaggerated care, the little man set a small glass of strong tea in front of each of them, along with a taller tumbler of water. The aroma of sweet lemons drifted up from the tea glasses, making Imrahil's mouth water. He nodded at the man and pronounced a hesitant "Tenayirek." The man beamed, and rattled off an incomprehensible reply. 

Legolas, in turn, addressed their host in his own language. "Tenayirek, ten ired na shayaan," he said sweetly.

This was apparently too much for the man, who exclaimed in delight and gazed at the elf as if he had just divulged the answers to all life's questions. Muttering excitedly to himself he hurried back into the house, where he could be heard sharing this new revelation with his family. 

"You must accustom yourself to this," Kallim said with a laugh. "My people are always inquisitive about strangers, and we will likely be the most intriguing guests they have ever opened their doors to." He turned to Legolas. "You will be loved everywhere for your ability to speak a little Haradin. Much more, no doubt, by the end of our journey." 

"I hope so," the elf replied.

Imrahil sipped his tea and met Gedrinel's eyes across the table. He exchanged a somewhat rueful smile with the captain. Of course he was proud of his lover's beauty and accomplishments, but there were times when he found himself wishing that Legolas attracted a little less attention, and was consequently treated a little less like public property. 

His wish was evidently not going to be granted today. While Gedrinel recounted an amusing anecdote about some of his early mishaps with the Haradin language - with Kallim watching him admiringly throughout, as Imrahil noted with pleasure - the boy who had led their horses away emerged from the house and edged uncertainly towards them. He was followed by a much smaller girl, her thumb firmly jammed in her mouth and her grubby yellow smock trailing on the ground. Bringing up the rear was a dust-coloured dog that had, or so the prince sincerely hoped, seen better days. All three sidled closer to the elf, their eyes round.

Legolas, sensing or hearing their approach, turned in his seat. He smiled at the speechless children, then greeted each carefully, adding a final comment to the dog. Two pairs of human eyes grew wider still, and the mongrel thumped its tail on the ground enthusiastically. The boy stuttered out what seemed to be a polite response to the elf's words. 

There was a pause, then the tiny girl said something in a clear, high voice. Evidently she had committed some impropriety, as the boy turned to her and responded angrily, muttering rapidly under his breath. Legolas looked inquiringly at Kallim.

"She wants to know if she may touch your hair and your ears," Kallim said, grinning broadly. "Her brother tells her that it is extremely rude to make such a request, and threatens to inform their father."

"Please, ask him to do no such thing," responded Legolas quickly. "It would be strange indeed if one so young was not curious. If she wishes to approach, she may do so." He smiled kindly at the child, asking softly, "Ten wa'errisah mideelan?"

"Nejayya," she replied, enchanted.

"Come, Nejayya, sit with me," Legolas extended an arm to beckon her forward. He carried on talking to the girl, using sing-song words that Imrahil could not understand, but which were surely not Haradin. It was the same tone he had heard the elf using to render the most restless of animals as docile as an overfed housecat. Indeed, the dog seemed to understand him as well as the children did, for as Nejayya climbed confidently onto the bench beside Legolas, the emaciated creature came forward to rest possessively across the elf's feet.

Imrahil raised his gaze heavenwards, then dropped it to his tea glass, deliberately avoiding making eye contact with Gedrinel or Kallim. He did not have to look at them to know how amused they would be by the scene, and he had no wish to upset the children by laughing out loud. Nejayya was now standing close to Legolas, stroking his hair and ear with a small hand and babbling happily in Haradin, apparently content with his elvish responses. Her brother had also moved nearer, his threat apparently forgotten, and was staring adoringly at Legolas. 

The moment was rudely disturbed by the appearance of the man, presumably the children's father, carrying armfuls of plates. At his horrified shout, Nejayya jumped down from the bench and grasped her brother's hand, and both children scurried to the safety of the doorway. The dog slunk under the seat and out of sight. 

Before any of the others could attempt to rectify the situation, Kallim intervened quickly in the man's tirade, offering placating words in a tone of relaxed good humour. His eloquence seemed to be effective; by the time the platters of bread and salad had been distributed, their host was laughing and smiling in response to the young man's prompting. 

Imrahil watched the man as he headed back into the house and noticed at the doorway a second, younger woman, staring directly at him. She was dressed in a long red robe and her white headscarf was fringed with multicoloured beads. It framed a face that was quite unexpectedly lovely: huge oval eyes above a straight nose and a wide, crimson mouth curved into a shy smile. Imrahil smiled in return, inclined his head, and briefly touched his heart with his fingertips. The woman blushed, and pulled the scarf across her face before vanishing into the gloomy interior once more. The prince turned back to his meal, strangely cheered.

As Kallim had promised, the food was simple but good. Flat earthenware dishes held eggs, baked in the oven with colourful vegetables and seasonings; the salad was composed of spicy leaves and dressed with tangy lemon; the bread coarse, chewy and full of flavour. The whole of it was washed down with cool water that was surprisingly sweet. In spite of their watchful audience throughout the meal, all four companions ate with gusto and genuine appreciation.

After yet another round of sweet lemon tea the travellers declared themselves ready to depart. Their horses were brought to the front of the yard, their water skins filled to bursting, and a bag of fresh oranges pressed into Kallim's hands. Imrahil, thinking of the dry, stony fields out at the back of the house, doubled the paltry sum asked for in payment, and was duly embarrassed by their host's excessive gratitude.

"If you carry on like that, nobody will believe you are a merchant," Gedrinel commented in an undertone. 

"What else can I do?" Imrahil exclaimed. "I can hardly ignore their poverty."

"I should imagine we'll see far worse," the captain replied.

Before they left, Legolas made his grave farewells to each of the family in turn, pronouncing the Haradin words carefully but with none of the guttural harshness of the native speech. Their astonishment contained, man, woman and children simply gazed at him admiringly, with happy smiles. 

As he mounted his smooth-coated chestnut steed, Imrahil's eyes returned to the doorway. He peered into the gloom beyond, but searched in vain. The beautiful young woman, so fleetingly glimpsed, was nowhere to be seen.

********************

 

By the time the sun had dropped to a handsbreadth above the western horizon, Imrahil was having to remind himself that they were making this journey for his enjoyment. He was feeling decidedly saddle-sore, and badly in need of a wash. A light breeze had started to blow in the early afternoon, but, coming from the south east, it offered little in the way of cooling relief. All it had done was swirl the dry red dust around. The fine grit had insinuated itself everywhere, coating the inner lining of his nostrils and throat, finding its way under his eyelids, into his ears and mouth, between his toes, down inside his breeches.

"Shall we stop soon? The horses will need to drink," he called ahead to Kallim. 

The ebullient youth seemed to feel no discomfort, but was riding straight in the saddle, laughing with Legolas and Gedrinel as they practised Haradin together. Imrahil had joined in the lesson at first, but had soon found himself outclassed. Gedrinel already had a fair command of the language, and was presumably taking part for the pleasure of his young lover's company; certainly his eyes rarely strayed from Kallim, and in them there was none of the anxious jealousy with which he had watched his friend a week ago. Legolas, meanwhile, had an uncanny ability to hear, remember and repeat the new phrases, to his teacher's great delight. 

Imrahil had spoken both Sindarin and Westron fluently since he first learned to talk, and had not considered himself to be lacking in linguistic abilities. He could handle a basic conversation in the tongue of the Rohirrim, and had learned a few Silvan phrases during his stay in Ithilien. Today, however, he had soon realised that his need for continuous repetition of the strange-sounding words was limiting Legolas's progress, so he had allowed his horse to fall a little way behind the others, and had lapsed into contemplation of the wide, semi-arid landscape around them. 

The sparse array of twisted kaadin trees stretched in all directions, to the jagged high peaks on the far southern horizon and the nearer, more rounded mountains of the north. Ahead the road seemed endless, a receding red line of beaten earth with the shimmer of heat lingering above it, even at this late stage of the day. 

"We can make camp within the next hour," Kallim said, waiting with his horse reined to a halt for the prince to catch up with him. "Do you see the darker clumps of trees, there, where the spur of higher land juts southwards? There are a number of small springs not too far from the road. The water comes down through the mountain rock and is rather too bitter for our tastes, but it will suffice for washing, and for the horses."

Somewhat relieved, Imrahil patted his mount's neck and trotted on with Kallim's grey mare at his side. The southerner made no attempt to catch up with the other two, who were evidently still attempting to converse in Haradin, and enjoying themselves in the process, as their laughter testified. 

"Legolas learns remarkably quickly," said Kallim. "I have never known anything like it."

"An elf's memory is very different from ours. I believe that once he has heard or seen something, he can remember it at will, in all its detail," the prince replied.

Kallim's eyes widened. "For all eternity? That is a terrifying thought, is it not?" 

Imrahil made a show of considering for a moment. "For him, or for me?" he said, with a grin.

They smiled at each other and rode on in easy companionship, discussing some of the less obvious differences between elves and men. Kallim was fascinated by Imrahil's observations of elvenkind, and hung on his words, meeting each new confidence with a further question.

"How I wish to visit the north and meet these folk for myself," he mused. "Do many elves visit your city of Dol Amroth?"

"As far as I know, Legolas is the only one of his kind to set foot in the place for more than an age of men," Imrahil said. "He will not travel there with his kin, for fear of awakening the sea-longing within their hearts. It is a powerful and terrible thing."

"The sea longing?"

"It lies dormant within the breast of every Silvan elf, they say, waiting only for the sight or sound of the sea to bestir it. And then the poor elf feels it evermore, the irresistible urge to sail west to Valinor, true home of the first-born. It will not recede until he or she takes ship and leaves this earth behind once and for all."

"Yet Legolas not only comes to Dol Amroth, but willingly journeys across sea with you to Umbar? Is he not plagued by this longing?"

"Every day," the prince said sadly. "He first heard the cry of the gulls during the Great War, and has suffered from the sea-longing since. It seems he has learned to live with it, through meditation and self control, and strangely, being by the sea itself eases the ache. However, it is always there. You do not know it because he hides it so well - and there is another thing you should understand about the elves. They show you only what they choose for you to see of their pain, their joy, their anxiety. I do not believe that any man can truly conceive of such self discipline."

As Kallim pondered this statement in silence, Imrahil thought of the nights when Legolas had lain in his arms, distant and melancholic, the call of the sea singing loud in his mind as he gladly accepted the prince's comfort. However astonishing the elf's physical affection for him might be, to be allowed close enough to understand his beloved's suffering was perhaps the most precious gift of all.

After a moment, Kallim gave Imrahil a searching look, and seemingly decided that a change of subject was in order. "Would you tell me something of your realm?" he asked. "Is it true that even the peasants live in luxury since the ending of the war?"

The prince laughed. "I would hardly put it like that," he said dryly, "but these have been good years."

They fell once more into pleasant conversation. Imrahil described the geography and social structure of his kingdom, with Kallim taking in every detail, and always eager for more. The young man's intelligence was apparent in every question he asked, and his thirst for knowledge of worlds beyond his own was utterly endearing. His company was enjoyable enough to make Imrahil forget his weary discomfort.

None the less, the prince was heartily pleased when Kallim pulled his horse to a slow walk and said, "Ah, I think we might leave the road here, and find a suitable place to camp." 

He called ahead to Legolas and Gedrinel, who turned to follow as they left the main thoroughfare and picked their way along a narrow track through the brush. The high spur of land was now directly before them and the trees were more plentiful, with small bushes dotted frequently between them. Invisible insects chirruped noisily from the branches, and lizards scuttled across the stones as they approached. 

"There is a spring not far from here," Kallim said, scanning the land ahead. We should water the horses first, then remove ourselves a little to a suitable clearing for the night. We may not be the only travellers to take this path."

"Indeed we are not," agreed Legolas. "Can you not hear the calls?" 

They brought the horses to a standstill and listened. At first Imrahil could make out nothing above the incessant insect noise, but after a moment he heard it, a young voice raised in a cry, and an answering note from a pipe of some sort. He looked at Kallim.

The young man was smiling. "Goatherds, by the sound of them," he said. "We have nothing to fear. Come."

They found the goatherds down by the waterhole itself, a brackish looking pool surrounded by palms and dark, spiky rushes. To Imrahil's surprise the group was quite large; an older man and two of middle years, three bright-eyed youths and a handful of noisy, dirty boys, who were shouting at each other and the goats as they chivvied the flock back up the slope on the far side. As far as the prince could see, all the men and boys were tall and rangily built, with dark curling hair and black eyes. A family resemblance was immediately obvious between the older man and several of the younger ones.

Kallim called a greeting, and was answered by a chorus of cheerful shouts. The noise petered out as Imrahil and Legolas rode into view behind him, then started up again as excited questions were asked and answers given. 

"Best that I go round and talk to them," Kallim said after a few moments of this, sliding from his saddle and handing the reins to Gedrinel. "I shall not be long."

He strode off through the rushes, leaving the others to lead the grateful horses down to drink. The water did not look in the least appetising, and there was evidence of the goats' recent visit everywhere. Imrahil picked his way carefully down to the edge of the pool and stared about him doubtfully. There seemed little hope of a decent wash in such a place as this.

Meanwhile, an understanding of some sort seemed to have been reached on the far side of the oily water. There was a great deal of laughter, and judging by the expansive gestures and embraces, Kallim was being welcomed like a long-lost son. When at last he returned to his companions, he was beaming. 

"It turns out that I have traded with Teret's brother many times," he said. "Teret is the taller of the men, there, with the two boys. His brother comes to the city several times a year with leather and bone goods for sale - simple stuff, but of the highest quality. These are good people. They have invited us to join them for a meal and to rest in their camp." 

"Is it well to accept? I cannot imagine they have much to spare," asked Legolas.

"It would be churlish not to do so," Kallim replied. "They are poor, but they have their pride, and such hospitality is a way of life here. If we offer some of our own provisions, it will be well for all of us. Come! We shall see something now that Lord Brenhir's men would never have shown you."

********************

 

With two glasses of hot sweet tea and a hearty meal of meat and bread inside him, Imrahil had fully rediscovered his sense of well-being. The longed-for bathe had been achieved - the goatherds had led the travellers to a small stone tank half way up the slope, where a subsidiary spring dribbled from a gap in the rocks. The water was reddish but untouched by animals, and it proved to be marvellously refreshing on the skin. 

After their wash, they had descended by a different route to find the camp already established, with a modest fire glowing at the centre of the clearing, water boiling, and rough blankets laid out on the ground for them to rest on. The horses were tethered to trees nearby but the goats were out of sight - another pair of youths had appeared at the fireside as two of their peers, along with three of the smaller boys, had vanished into the rapidly gathering night to guard the flocks. Their voices and pipes could be heard in the near distance, along with the faint tinkling of goat bells. 

The meal was a merry one, with much good-natured dumb show supplementing Kallim's running translations, as the goatherds asked after their guests and told a little of their lives. Legolas had exhausted his stock of Haradin phrases, and leaned back against his pack, observing all that took place with untiring interest. Gedrinel offered the occasional remark, but seemed largely content to let Kallim do the talking. Kallim himself was clearly in his element, laughing and gesticulating broadly, delighting in the attention of the men around him. 

How readily he mixes with them, the prince thought. How many high-born young men of my realm would be so relaxed amongst the poorest of the common people, with no sign of condescension? A swig of the goatherds' rough, fiery liquor was enough to overcome any inhibitions he might have had, and when there was a pause in the conversation, he leaned towards the southerner to make the same point to him.

"For a man of your status, you seem remarkably at ease in this company," he said. "Perhaps the boundaries of class are less rigid here than they are in my home."

"I doubt it very much," Kallim rejoined. "But a man in my position cannot afford to be too concerned with such divisions. Since I was banished from my family home, I effectively have no status; I have come to see that friendship is valuable, wherever one may find it."

"It is an admirable trait," said the prince frankly.

"Manners are rather freer among the nomadic tribes than they are in the city," Kallim continued. "The men spend many months wandering with the animals, while the women and children stay in the main camps. In such circumstances, it is natural for strong bonds to form between the young men. It is not unknown for the elders of some tribes to bless their friendships, almost as if they were marriages."

Kallim took a deep draught from the liquor bottle and passed it back to the prince. Before Imrahil could question him further on this intriguing topic, Ganeh, the oldest of the goatherds, approached them, holding out a weathered-looking object on the end of a sharp stick. 

"Endariel!" he grinned, showing the gaps between his misshapen teeth. "You please?"

The prince took the offering and bit into it with enthusiasm. The meat was tough, but the smoky flavour was delicious.

"Is good?"

"Very good," Imrahil said sincerely.

"Yet another one, my friend?" inquired Legolas archly. "Shall we hoist you onto your horse in the morning?"

On the elf's far side, Gedrinel, engaged in some sort of dice game with one of the middle-aged men, snorted with laughter.

Imrahil sniffed loudly. "I am certain that, between you, you are equal to the task," he said happily.

The air had cooled considerably by the time Imrahil rose from his blanket and made his way into the trees to relieve himself. The night was clear and the moon three quarters full; the stars as bright as he had ever seen them. His business complete, he hummed a cheerful tune as he returned to the camp. They had been right to set out on this journey. Already he felt as if he had ventured a thousand miles into the unknown. What further unexpected delights awaited them as they travelled further south?

He stepped into the clearing to the sound of a reedy pipe and the sharp tap of a small drum. Ganeh was settling himself cross-legged with its larger companion between his knees while Teret played a piercing trill on the pipe and his son, the taller of the two youths, rapped out an insistent rhythm. With cries of encouragement from Kallim and the remainder of the goatherds, the two drummers settled into a simple yet irresistible pattern, and Teret began a melancholy tune. 

Imrahil sat down beside Legolas and lay back against his pack, his legs stretched out in front of him. His fingers tapped out the beat on his thigh. The elf smiled down at him. "We were right to accept this invitation, were we not?" the prince said. 

Legolas nodded, his eyes shining in the firelight.

Before long the second youth and three of the smaller boys had progressed from enthusiastic hand-clapping to standing up and dancing. Their movements were strangely at odds with their rough clothes and weatherworn appearance; the raised arms and swaying, circling hips hinted at a sensuality Imrahil would not have expected. He stared, fascinated, and quite missed Ganeh's question and Kallim's translation of it.

"They are asking, will you dance?" Kallim repeated.

"Me?" Imrahil shook his head. "I do not think I could do this rhythm justice. Better that I simply watch." He resumed his tapping and nodded his head to the beat.

Kallim relayed his response to the old man, then turned to Legolas. "I think it is you they would really like to see dancing," he said. There had been the usual exclamations when the elf had uncovered his hair, and again when he spoke his beautifully enunciated Haradin. 

"Not me?" asked Gedrinel lazily. "They don't know what they're missing." He lounged back on his wadded up blanket with his hands behind his head. 

"You wish to dance?" Kallim was delighted. 

"No, of course not. I was merely jesting. Let our friend Nemerin take the stage."

Legolas looked doubtful. Kallim gazed at him for a moment, then said, "You must realise that it would make our hosts very happy. Suppose I dance, and you join me when you are ready?"

Predictably enough, Kallim’s performance was mesmerising. The suggestion of sensuality in the goatherds' dance became, in his deliberate undulations, a full blown statement. He had unfastened his hair and swept it from side to side with each voluptuous toss of his head, as his hands traced elaborate invitations in the air. The men clapped and cheered their approval, and Imrahil's mouth felt suddenly dry. He groped for the water skin without looking away from the figure twisting and stamping in the firelight. 

"Nemerin? How about it?" called Kallim, to a chorus of whistles and shouts. The goatherds had formed a half circle around him and most were down on one knee, adding intricate patterns of claps to the main beat.

"If good manners demand it," said the elf in mock resignation, rising to his feet with sinuous grace.

He danced opposite Kallim, copying the outline of his movements, yet adding something uniquely his own, something that spoke of the trees and the sweet green air of the north, yet had its roots planted firmly in the earth. As Imrahil's body seemed only too well aware, the elf's dancing, for all his elegant beauty, was no less suggestive than Kallim's.

The prince cleared his throat and reached for the liquor. "What are the men saying?" he murmured to Gedrinel. "Can you understand their comments?"

"The dialect is odd, and I can't follow much," the captain replied hoarsely, "but I think it's fair to say that they're appreciative."

Imrahil was already shifting uncomfortably on the ground when the tempo of the music changed, slowing to a heavy, hypnotic rhythm that only served to raise his temperature further. He watched in astonishment as Kallim took Legolas's hands and raised them above their heads, then spun round to dance with his back pressed close to the elf. He linked their fingers loosely once more and guided Legolas's arms out to the sides. His head fell back against the elf's shoulder, and the two of them swayed in unison, eyes shut, hips circling together.

Imrahil was sweating more profusely than he had done under the midday sun. "By the gods," he muttered, turning to Gedrinel.

Even by the last of the firelight, it was clear that the captain's cheeks were crimson. He was staring at Kallim and Legolas with a starved look on his face. Imrahil had the distinct impression that he was fighting the urge to rush up to the dancers, fling Kallim to the ground and ravish him there and then, in front of them all. The prince bit down a groan and shut his eyes, trying to dispel the unsettling thought. Opening his eyes again and glancing at the goatherds, he saw that he and Gedrinel were not the only ones so affected. Every face was turned towards the pair, and more than one wore an expression of unconcealed lust.

Mercifully, a long descending scale from the pipes and a deep roll on the large drum soon signalled the end of the dance. Amongst much laughing and back-slapping, Legolas and Kallim accepted another bottle of the lethal spirits and returned to their places on the blankets. It was a moment before Imrahil could speak, and it seemed that the captain was faring no better.

"Well," said the prince lamely, "that was certainly... diverting."

Legolas cast him a knowing look and slowly raised an eyebrow, a grin flicking at the corner of his mouth. Kallim, meanwhile, was tipping his head back to take a deep swallow of water, while Gedrinel watched, glowering. 

The southerner sighed dramatically, and wiped his hand across his mouth before turning to smile at Imrahil. "Next time," he announced ingenuously, "I will have the two of you dancing with us."

********************

 

"Does he want you?" whispered Imrahil, as quietly as he knew how.

"Mmmm?" replied Legolas sleepily.

"You heard me." He shifted up the blanket to place his mouth right by the elf's ear. They were shielded from vision by the makeshift tent that the goatherds had insisted on putting together for them, but Gedrinel and Kallim, playing the role of their squires, would likely be sleeping close by.

"Does he want you?" the prince asked again.

Legolas turned to his side so that his eyes were inches away from Imrahil's. "Not to any serious extent," he replied, barely audibly. "That whole display was largely for Gedrinel's benefit, I can assure you. You would be surprised how single-minded he is."

"Ah," breathed Imrahil, mollified.

"Do you want him?" asked Legolas mildly.

"Kallim? No, of course not." He realised at once that he had waited a fraction of a second too long before replying, but he had not expected the elf's response to be an almost silent laugh.

"You need not be afraid to admit it," Legolas said. "It would be difficult not to respond to such youthful exuberance and charm."

What about you? The words were on the tip of the prince's tongue, but he held them in. There were some things he would really rather not know. "Very well," he said. "I cannot deny that I find him attractive; but I would never..."

"Of course not." Legolas bent his head to kiss Imrahil's throat gently. "Do not worry about it. If you had watched a beautiful girl dancing in such a manner and been moved by her performance, I doubt that you would have thought twice about it."

"You may be right. But the way he was dancing with you..." 

"Ah, I am sorry if you were disturbed by that piece of theatre. I had thought you might enjoy it." Legolas touched his cheek, then kissed him softly on the lips. "I certainly did," he added, speaking the words into Imrahil's mouth.

Astonishingly, hearing the admission so directly was not so much painful as quite fiercely arousing. The sight of Kallim rubbing against Legolas as he danced came back to Imrahil as vividly as any elven memory. He swallowed with difficulty, and barely managed to croak, "As did the Haradin men." 

He ran his hand down the elf's side and pulled the fabric of the long shirt up, exposing the curve of thigh and hip. His fingers soon found their way down across his lover’s belly to stroke his thickening cock. "I am not so sure about Gedrinel, though. I suspect matters may not be well between our friends in the morning."

"Do not concern yourself," replied Legolas complacently. "I heard them whispering together as they crept from the camp some minutes ago, and I doubt that they have simply gone to look at the stars. Even as we speak, your handsome captain is giving payment in full for tonight's virtuoso performance."

Without doubt Legolas was aware of the heart-stopping images his words conjured up in Imrahil's head. In matters such as these he invariably knew exactly what he was doing. The prince closed his eyes and breathed hard for a moment. "You are a very wicked elf," he observed. He closed his hand into a firm grasp and moved it back and forth. Without ceasing the motion, he bent to join their mouths in a kiss, a kiss with all the evening's heated lust behind it. 

"There is only the illusion of privacy here. We can easily be heard," said Legolas a while later, his breath catching.

"Then I shall give you something to keep you quiet."

Imrahil shifted onto his knees and pulled his shirt over his head, cursing softly as his arm hit the uppermost branch holding their shelter together. He squirmed around carefully and dropped back down onto the blanket, inching forward as Legolas moved to accommodate him. With a little manoeuvring they settled into position, each with his head pillowed on a muscled thigh, mouth open to welcome his lover's cock. 

Every time they played this particular game, Imrahil swore that he would restrain himself, would not allow himself to reach his completion before Legolas tensed and arched to do the same. On this occasion, as on all the others, he failed. It was not just the powerful suction or the press of the elf's firm lips moving up and down his flesh, nor the agile tongue flicking and swirling, teasing him mercilessly. Nor was it the feel of his lover's strangely sweet-tasting cock, filling his own mouth so thoroughly that he could hear his breath coming fast through his nose, that drove him so rapidly to the brink. 

Something about the act itself, most intimate expression of reciprocal passion, never failed to stir Imrahil's blood to a point beyond control. So he gave, and received; worshipped, and was worshipped; pushed his cock forward into the unbelievable heat of his lover's mouth, and took Legolas's answering thrust in return. And as he lay amongst the rough, rank blankets, where the smell of acrid wood smoke mingled with the sweet, musky scent of the elf, with a dozen men and boys lying within hearing's reach, he realised that it was useless to try and hold back.

He spilled himself helplessly down his lover's willing throat, clamping his lips around Legolas's cock to stop himself shouting out his pleasure. A few long moments to recover himself, then he wriggled his hand up between them to allow his fingers to join in the work of lips and tongue. He felt the elf's approval in the slight stiffening of his frame, and before long was swallowing a stream of liquid silver as Legolas pulsed silently, grasping Imrahil's hip and nudging his mind with waves of uncomplicated desire.

Afterwards the elf lay in his arms, head cradled on his shoulder, an arm across his chest, a thigh draped over his own. Imrahil nuzzled the sleek hair and stroked the smooth, warm skin of his lover's back. Thinking back over the night's events, he was troubled by a flush of shame.

"I am sorry," he whispered. "You know I want nothing more in my life than this."

Legolas kissed his neck and hugged his chest reassuringly. "Do not be sorry," he said. "I know that your heart is true, and your body's responses are only healthy. If you were not at least a little moved by our lovely young friend, I might begin to wonder if you were truly a man."

Imrahil was vaguely aware that he should counter the elf's teasing with a witty riposte of his own, but could come up with nothing suitable. "The luckiest man alive," he murmured, tightening his hold on his lover, and closing his eyes.

******************

 

Ten wa'errisah mideelan?: What is your name?

Tenayirek, ten ired na shayaan: Thank you, you are very kind


	11. Chapter 11

Gedrinel woke to the ill-omened whine of a flying insect, perilously close to his ear. Opening gummy eyes, he found himself alone on a large, somewhat sodden bed at one end of an unfamiliar whitewashed room. A shaft of intense sunlight filtered through the shuttered window, and the place was uncomfortably hot. 

The captain rolled to his side and heaved himself up into a sitting position. His head felt as if it was filled with sharp-cornered rocks, and his throat was so dry, he might have slept with a mouth full of sand. He regarded the row of fresh red lumps on his lower left arm with disgust. As far as he was concerned, the romantic beauty of the south was distinctly overrated. The reality was fetid air and scorching sun, never a sign of a fresh breeze, skin in a permanent state of itching sweatiness, and every insect in Umbar making a bid for his exotic northern flesh. No doubt the true desert would be even more of a joy. Still, Imrahil was happy, and that was the important thing.

He ran a finger over the bites, resisting the urge to scratch. How typical that he should be particularly prone to the damned things! Kallim seemed remarkably untroubled by the pests, saying laughingly that with Gedrinel in the room his own southern blood was of very little interest. In a more helpful moment, he had promised to bring back some soothing lotion from the market.

Gedrinel rubbed his temples, then reached for the jug of water by the bed. That was the last time he would indulge so freely in the heavy local red wine - delicious as it was, it was no drink for the uninitiated in a climate such as this. Aboard his beloved ship he could quaff with the best of them and wake fresh and eager in the morning; perhaps he needed the reviving sea air to clear out the alcohol-induced lethargy. In any case, he had grunted a refusal when Kallim had woken him at some obscenely early hour to ask if he wanted to see the market. The southerner had bitten his ear, whispered something about rousing him properly on his return, and vanished into the village on some business of his own. Gedrinel had no idea how long he had been sleeping since. 

He rose from the soiled bed and lurched across the room to the washstand. Although he was no novice horseman, it was some time since he had sat for two solid days in the saddle, and his body was not as young as it once was. His nocturnal activities with Kallim had no doubt added to his aches and pains, but he was not about to complain of that. 

Kallim's company was one aspect of the trip that was far exceeding his expectations. His state of perpetual lust in the young man's presence still astonished him, but on balance it was a condition he would not change. As he dribbled tepid water over his sticky flesh, he let his mind linger on the events of last night.

The governor’s villa at Khimmet was sufficiently small for Gedrinel and Kallim to have been allocated a shared room without comment. They had retired relatively early after a hearty meal and far too much wine. Gedrinel had fancied himself ready to sleep, but had soon been disabused of the notion. No doubt the alcohol had played some part in extending the timescale of their endeavours; it had certainly done nothing to dull Gedrinel's pleasure. 

Of course, virtually any act of passion would have seemed a marathon by comparison to their coupling of the previous night, when they had slipped away from the nomads' camp to settle their differences amongst the kaadin trees. Gedrinel had been filled with such a combination of possessive rage and furious desire, he had been barely able to speak; but as it turned out, words had not been necessary. He had taken Kallim roughly, reaching his peak with a speed and violence that had left them both temporarily stunned. He might still have slept with his jealous anger undiminished, had Kallim not elicited a repeat performance with skilful, pleading insistence. Gedrinel had finally allowed himself to be convinced that the young man spoke the truth when he said his dance with Legolas had been largely for the captain's pleasure.

He thought back to that dance now, as he soaked the sponge in clean water and applied it to his belly and groin. Before too long he found he had lost all interest in washing; the sponge fell back into the bowl and his soapy hand moved with another purpose altogether. He staggered back to the bed to complete the job and came, gasping, his mind full of unspeakable visions.

A few deep breaths later he realised that his headache had, quite miraculously, vanished. Apparently he had hit upon the perfect remedy for his pitiful condition. A couple of cups of good southern coffee would render him almost human. 

Out in the shaded courtyard, the steward Hammin informed him in hesitant Westron that Imrahil and Legolas had risen early and accompanied 'the young lord Kallim' to the village market. The nondescript man served Gedrinel with a practised deference, showing no sign of surprise at the captain's request for fruit, curds, and a quantity of fresh bread. The food was delicious, the coffee blessedly strong, and by the time he had finished Gedrinel felt like a man reborn.

After eating he stepped into the house and lingered a while in Brenhir's library, intrigued by the governor's collection of ancient maps of Umbar and the Haradin wastelands. He was still poring over the yellowed parchments when a commotion outside announced the return of the other guests.

Kallim found him in the library before he had the chance to put all the maps away. "You're alive!" he grinned, shutting the door behind him. He was carrying a large leather bag that Gedrinel hadn't seen before.

"And you're extremely close-shaven," the captain replied admiringly.

"Yes. I had thought to offer the others the services of a real southern barber, but of course they have no need of such attentions. How strange it must be to wake every morning smooth-cheeked, like a woman," said Kallim, placing the bag on a chair and untying its fastenings.

"Where are they now?"

"Oh, they're wandering the grounds with the gardener. He is showing Legolas some rare breeds of palm, I believe," the young man laughed. "The market was excellent. You missed a treat, but I've brought you a gift, and one for myself. Look. This is for me."

He held up a gold chain, a little over a foot long. It was fairly solid work, open links with a long hook for fastening at each end.

"That must have cost you a pretty penny," Gedrinel observed. 

"Not as much as you might think. The price of gold always falls dramatically at this time of year. Now, here is your gift."

Kallim reached into the bag once more and produced an object made of fine-grained leather, tanned to a deep rich brown. The long supple switch was neatly braided, the handle firmly padded, the wrist loop intricately plaited. Gedrinel weighed it in his hand, then swished it experimentally through the air, noting the sharp whistling sound, the elegant curve of the flexible stem. 

"It's beautifully crafted," he said with a troubled frown, "and I thank you for it. I must tell you, though, that in my opinion a decent horseman has no need of a riding crop."

The words were not even out of his mouth before he realised his mistake. A glance at Kallim, whose bright eyes were following the movement of his arm with avid attention, confirmed his suspicion. 

"Did I say anything about using it on your horse?" The words were accompanied by a sly, seductive smile.

Gedrinel clutched the riding crop, feeling the sweat break out on his brow. "And I don't suppose," he said slowly, as the thought dawned on him, "that you intend to wear that trinket around your neck?"

"That's one possibility," Kallim replied, picking the chain up and trickling it from hand to hand. He looked up at Gedrinel from beneath his ridiculously long lashes. "What do you think? It has a nice weight to it."

Gedrinel took a long, deep breath, attempting to steady himself. "I think," he said in a low voice, "that you're trying to do me a permanent injury."

"Hardly permanent," Kallim murmured, stepping a little closer. "A little discomfort now, maybe, but it will be worthwhile in the longer term."

"Come here."

Gedrinel let the riding crop dangle from his wrist as he reached with both hands for Kalllim's shoulders and pulled him close. Oblivious to everything but his overpowering lust, he bent his head and attacked the southerner's mouth in a bruising, demanding kiss that left no room for dissent. His fingers raked down Kallim's spine and grabbed at his backside, forcing him closer still so their cocks pressed hard against each other. Kallim was clinging to the back of his neck, shifting and rubbing against him and letting out a stream of muffled moans.

"Sirek, zereniyya!" the southerner exclaimed breathlessly when they drew slightly apart for air. "No other man has brought me so close, simply by kissing me."

"You're close to coming?" Gedrinel hissed, before biting Kallim's lower lip and grinding their hips together.

"Mmm. Ah, yes!"

"Then do it."

The second kiss was even more forceful than the first. Kallim groaned helplessly as Gedrinel abandoned all restraint, his hands clutching at firm muscle, his tongue thrusting violently. A sudden inspiration led him to flick the riding crop around in his hand, so that the handle, pointing downwards, was pushing uncompromisingly into the cleft of Kallim's rear through the thin fabric of his trousers. The southerner wriggled against the padded leather and made a desperate sound, his fingers gripping Gedrinel's shoulders tightly.

Gedrinel moved the handle up and down with hard, steady strokes that matched the rhythm of his hips. His other hand slid down Kallim's side, then inwards until he felt the ring of metal beneath the shirt. He tugged and twisted it mercilessly as he raised his head for breath, then, sensing that Kallim was nearing the end, claimed his mouth once more. 

Determined as he was, he couldn't entirely silence Kallim's cries as the southerner stiffened and jerked against him. None the less, he did his utmost, and only drew back when Kallim had quieted and slumped in his arms. Then he moved his head until his mouth was next to Kallim's ear. "You are a wanton, wicked creature," he muttered.

"Yes..."

"It's a good thing I know what to do with you." 

It was time to pay attention to his own painfully excited state, Gedrinel decided. He backed across the room to the desk, pulling Kallim with him, and leaned against it. A hand on each shoulder pushed Kallim down to his knees, then it was a moment's work to hitch up his shirt, unfasten his trousers, and bring out his impatient cock.

"Take it," he growled. "I'm going to come so hard down your throat..."

Kallim, still gasping for breath, nodded his enthusiastic assent and opened his mouth wide. Gedrinel needed no further invitation. 

He gave the southerner no chance to demonstrate his considerable oral skills. With his fingers laced through thick dark hair he held Kallim's head steady and fucked his mouth with single-minded lack of ceremony. He slammed his hips first forwards, then back into the table, over and again, staring down at Kallim all the while. Before long he felt the pressure of his orgasm building unstoppably in his groin, as the cry of pleasure gathered in his throat.

At the very last instant a sudden noise behind Gedrinel made him freeze mid-movement. The door had opened, and somebody had inhaled sharply. Kallim flicked his eyes across the room and back up to Gedrinel, then hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard. The captain was well beyond the point of no return. Even as he heard the door shut once more, he yelled loudly and poured himself into Kallim's mouth, on and on until he had neither sense nor strength left in him. Kallim swallowed every drop, then sat back on his heels with a grin of shameless satisfaction, as Gedrinel struggled for breath. 

Once he gathered his wits, the captain asked in an urgent whisper, "Who was it?"

"Imrahil, of course. A servant would have knocked, and had it been Legolas, I doubt you would even have heard him."

"Imrahil? Oh merciful gods!" groaned Gedrinel in despair. What had he done? How could he have been so incautious? 

"Poor Gedrinel, caught in the act by his beloved prince." Kallim was making little attempt to contain his mirth.

"It is no laughing matter," spat Gedrinel angrily. "We - I - should have been more careful."

"I don't see why it's such a disaster," said Kallim evenly as he got to his feet. "Imrahil is a man of the world; I should imagine he's already worked out what we've been doing together. Don't you think he and Legolas have been discussing it?"

"That's hardly the same as him seeing it!" the captain snapped, ignoring the strange sensation brought about by Kallim's words. "I should apologise. Or..." He looked towards the door and made a half-hearted move towards it.

Kallim laid a hand on his arm and spoke in a surprisingly kindly tone. "Oh no, you can't go after him," he said. "That’s the very worst thing you could do. Just ignore it, and he will do the same. In an hour or two you will feel more able to face him; and besides, the sight of you on the point of losing yourself is bound to have affected him. I should imagine he's with Legolas right now, and who knows what the two of them are doing. If you walk in on that, you’ll only compound the problem."

Gedrinel groaned again and rubbed the heels of his hands across his brow. His headache had returned at full strength, and this time, he suspected, it was here to stay.

*****************

 

The road to S'fayyah was doing little to improve Gedrinel's impression of the desert. Flat scrubby land had given way to rocky, uneven terrain early in the second day's journey. The ubiquitous kaadin trees had thinned down to the occasional clump in an otherwise lifeless scene. The air was no less harsh here, but the dust had a finer quality and was a dirty yellow colour rather than the dull red of Khimmet.

They had spent the night in a roadside lodging, an establishment too rudimentary to be properly termed an inn. There had been water and stabling for the horses, and beds of a sort for the four travellers, in open-sided shelters that might have been considered romantic but for the impressive variety of insect life also in residence. Gedrinel had woken from an uneasy sleep to find a fresh set of bites scattered across his skin, including some in the most unlikely - and unfortunate - places. Kallim's thorough inspection of his body for fleas and ticks, and his solicitous application of the soothing cream after, had gone some way towards lifting Gedrinel's mood, but had only partially alleviated the itching soreness. There was one particular lump on his left inner thigh that had been giving him hell since the moment he'd taken saddle.

The captain squinted up at the late afternoon sun - a hazy reddish ball in a vast, oppressive sky - and remembered to assume a cheerful expression before turning to Imrahil. Kallim and Legolas were riding up ahead. The elf had agreed to share the true story of the four mûmakil after their brief midday stop, and it seemed that Kallim had not only held him to his promise, but had persuaded him to recount most of his other exploits in the Great War, to boot.

Imrahil's feelings about their surroundings were apparently rather more positive than Gedrinel's. "It is wonderful to be out on the open road and amongst friends, is it not?" the prince said, his delight written across his handsome, tanned face.

"Wonderful," agreed Gedrinel. It was hard to remain cynical in the presence of such infectious enthusiasm. He could feel his ill mood lifting as he studied Imrahil's wide, genuine smile. In much the same vein, his awkwardness following the incident in Brenhir's library two days ago had evaporated after a few minutes of down-to-earth conversation. The prince had given no sign whatsoever that he had seen or heard anything unusual, and indeed Gedrinel had fleetingly wondered if Kallim had told the truth, or whether they had in fact been disturbed by a servant. It would not be beyond Kallim to mislead him for the sake of his own amusement.

As Imrahil launched into a speculation about the scenic delights awaiting them in S'fayyah, Gedrinel reflected that life was perhaps not so bad, after all. There were, or so he had heard, a couple of decent inns in the oasis town, and a traditional Haradin bath house with ample hot water and a steam room. It would certainly be good to feel clean again. He scratched his thigh absent-mindedly, wincing a little as he touched the swollen area.

"Are the bites still troubling you?" asked Imrahil with a look of grave concern.

"They are a nuisance, but I've known worse, I suppose," Gedrinel said with a shrug. "Do you really have none, yourself?"

"Only a few, and they are of no consequence. Insects rarely bite me, and when they do, the flesh does not swell."

"Then you’re very lucky."

"'Tis the fraction of elven blood in my veins that protects me, I believe. Legolas never receives a bite, for all one might expect his blood to smell sweet."

This came as little surprise to Gedrinel. He tried to picture the elf's smooth white skin marred by angry red lumps, and failed. What lowly creature would have the audacity to attack such a vision of perfection? It was clearly the captain's lot to bear the brunt of the insect problem for all of them.

A little further down the road, where they passed between high rocky banks with kaadin trees visible beyond, Imrahil called a halt. 

"A few moments only," he called over his shoulder as he strode up the bank and into the trees for privacy. "If you ride on, I shall catch up with you."

"Better that we stay together," said Gedrinel, his mistrust of the unfamiliar territory returning. He whistled to the others and watched them bring their horses to a standstill, then turn in the road to wait. 

No more than a minute later, Imrahil's agonised shout brought Legolas galloping back towards Gedrinel, with Kallim hard at his heels. By the time the captain had scrambled up to the top of the ridge, the elf was at his side, eyes fierce and bow in his hand. Having taken in the scene in an instant, he dropped the weapon to run to the prince's side.

Imrahil was staggering from the trees, clutching one hand with the other, and gazing in horror at a swelling the size of a plover's egg on his palm. His face had taken on a sickly, greyish cast, and beads of sweat stood on his brow. "I leaned against the trunk and did not see it," he gasped. 

Legolas reached his lover and helped him down to a kneeling position. "Breathe deeply," the elf murmured, taking hold of the outstretched hand and examining it closely. 

Gedrinel had no notion what may have caused the terrible wound, but, feeling the need to be of some use, he opened his water skin and offered it to the prince. Before Imrahil could take it, Kallim was over the ridge and crouching beside him.

"Was it a yellowish, waxy looking creature with many legs and a long curved body?" Kallim asked urgently, drawing the knife from his belt.

Imrahil nodded. "I did not see it at first..." His voice seemed to be failing him.

"Right. Legolas, hold him still," Kallim ordered, “and Gedrinel, have the water ready."

The southerner grasped Imrahil's wrist with his left hand and without warning slashed a deep cut through the swollen flesh with his right. The prince flinched, but did not cry out. Kallim dropped the knife and bent forward, clamping his mouth over the wound and sucking hard, while Imrahil moaned softly and Legolas, crouched behind him, held him in a tight embrace and whispered close to his ear. 

Kallim turned his head to the side, his face contorted in a disgusted grimace, and spat copiously onto the ground. He groped for the flask that Gedrinel held out to him, rinsed his mouth and spat the tainted water out. Three times he repeated the process before sitting back and staring attentively at Imrahil.

"Wash it with clean water," Kallim said. 

As Gedrinel carefully opened the gash and poured the water over it, Kallim crawled closer and felt the prince's forehead with the back of his hand. He nodded, apparently satisfied.

Indeed, a more normal colour was already returning to Imrahil's face, and when he spoke, his voice was steady, although still weak. "Thank you," he murmured to Kallim. "What in Yavanna's name was that thing?"

"A gekhiyeh," replied the southerner shortly. "You were most unlucky to disturb one so directly. They do not sting unless provoked, but the venom can be deadly. The real danger is past, but you'll have a nasty swelling on that wound if we don't treat it soon."

"What must we do?" Legolas lifted his head from Imrahil's shoulder, but did not relax his hold on the prince. Imrahil was leaning back against him wearily.

"He needs to drink a skin of water, and the hand should be bathed in an infusion of direshi root," Kallim said, "that is, if we can find some."

"You do not carry a supply of it in case of such emergencies?" The elf frowned.

"There would be little point in doing so. It loses its potency a matter of hours after picking, so it must be found fresh."

"And where does it grow?"

"Usually where the kaadin trees are closer together than this," Kallim said, casting his eyes across the landscape, "but we may be lucky. It could be quite a search."

"You are certain he is out of immediate danger?" Legolas asked.

"Yes. Water and sleep will see him right."

"Then tell me of this plant and I shall find it, if it is here to be found. My eyes are best suited to this task."

Kallim nodded his agreement as Gedrinel moved to Imrahil's side. He helped Legolas to guide the prince gently back onto the ground so the elf could get to his feet.

"It is a small, dark green plant that grows close to the earth," Kallim continued. "The leaves are long and pointed, and they grow in groups of seven or eight, like a star."

"With slight serrations at the edge of the leaf, and a faint red line marking the vein along the centre of each?" Legolas responded.

"Yes."

"I have noticed such plants along our way. How many are needed?"

"Three or four whole roots will suffice."

"You shall have them. Prepare the water for the infusion." Without further comment, Legolas placed his water skin at Imrahil's side, kissed the prince's brow, then picked up his bow and slung it across his shoulder. He headed into the trees, running lightly, at a fair pace. Gedrinel shivered as he watched him go. No human eye could scan the ground and yet lead a runner sure-footed across such rough terrain.

"Are you well, My Lord?" Gedrinel turned his attention back to Imrahil and was relieved to see him managing a grin. 

"No more 'My Lord.'" the prince admonished. "I thought we had agreed to that." 

Kallim chuckled appreciatively as he rose to his feet. 

"I sense that you’re already much recovered," Gedrinel smiled. 

"Indeed. I shall rest here a time while you see to the horses."

"Of course!" They had dismounted in haste and left their steeds loose at the side of the road. Even the steadiest of beasts might have been tempted to wander by now.

"And I’ll gather some brush for a fire," Kallim said, recovering his knife and wiping it with a rag from his belt pouch. "But I shall not stray far, my friend."

As luck would have it, the horses had chosen each others' company over the lure of the wild, and had not trotted more than fifty yards down the road. Gedrinel rounded them up without difficulty, and with a seaman's practised hand improvised a temporary hitching post from a large wayside boulder and a length of stout rope. He was securing the last of the leads when he heard Kallim's voice, calling in an anxious, strained fashion, "Gedrinel?"

He muttered a curse and started towards the slope. "What is it?" he yelled.

"Come up slowly, without weapons. They have a knife to our friend's throat." Kallim spoke very slowly, and with unnatural precision. 

He cursed again, with even more feeling, as his heart sank like a stone, taking his stomach with it. Pausing only to transfer his short, well-worn dagger to the side of his boot, leaving its scabbard lying in a crevice, he made his way up over the rocks. A brief glance was enough to make their predicament clear. 

Imrahil was sitting where the captain had left him, his hands apparently bound behind his back and a look of bleak anger on his face. A big, rough man with greasy brown skin and a gruesome scar across his cheek was crouching behind him and holding a wicked looking knife against his neck. From his expression and general demeanour, Gedrinel felt sure that the villain would not shy from making the fatal cut. 

Kallim was over to Gedrinel's left, kneeling on the stony ground with two smaller but equally unsavoury types beside him. One had a split lip from which blood was flowing freely; he had twisted a hand in Kallim's hair and had pulled the southerner's head sharply back. As far as Gedrinel could see, Kallim was uninjured, and his eyes had lost none of their customary fire. The second man was tying his hands, and as Gedrinel watched, he rose to his feet and looked to the big man for direction.

Imrahil's captor, evidently the group's leader, shouted something to Gedrinel. If he was speaking Haradin, his accent or dialect was quite impenetrable.

"Come over here and kneel beside me," said Kallim rapidly. "Don't try anything or they will kill Endariel." 

Gedrinel did as he was told, swiftly and without any indication of the rage burning inside him. In a matter of moments his wrists were tightly bound behind him, then bound again to Kallim's. The big man said something to the other two, and the one who had hold of Kallim's hair stood to the side so the other could secure their ankles in a similar fashion.

"Why haven't they killed us yet?" Gedrinel asked in an undertone. On land or at sea, he knew this type of scum all too well; he doubted that they had any great respect for human life.

"Only because they think we're worth more to them alive, unless they fancy some sport," Kallim replied.

There was another angry shout from the big man and Kallim's tormentor kicked him sharply in the small of the back. Gedrinel didn't need the command translated to know that he should be silent. He risked a look at Kallim, who was biting his lip to avoid expressing his pain, then glanced up at the bandit's evil, leering grin. A sudden flash of nausea filled Gedrinel's throat with bile as he realised why Kallim's punch to the man's mouth had not been countered with a black eye or split lip of his own, but with other, less visible, hurts. By the gods, if he could only get himself free, he would carve the twisted smile from this vile specimen's face with his own hands.

For the time being, however, there was little he could do except kneel quietly and take in every detail of the scene around him. 

The bandits seemed to be engaged in a discussion about the best course of action. After a brief but somewhat heated exchange of views, the nasty smirking character released Kallim's hair and stumped off unwillingly towards the ridge. He soon disappeared down towards the road, no doubt to inspect the horses and packs, and prepare for a getaway. Gedrinel caught Kallim's eye and knew that he was thinking the same thing: only two now, but where was Legolas?

The man down at the roadside called up to his leader. Gedrinel caught the word 'four' but the rest of the sentence was lost to him. The bandit's leader tightened his grip on Imrahil's shoulder and leaned a little closer to the prince. He barked another comment at Kallim. As Imrahil held Gedrinel's gaze and the captain tried to communicate some hope and encouragement to him, the southerner cleared his throat. 

"There is no fourth," he said evenly. "The spare horse is for transport of goods only." The lie would be obvious to anyone who had seen the animal's saddle and reins; he must be hoping that the other bandit could not hear him. 

The leader did not seem impressed with this response. He made an unpleasant, dismissive sound and pressed the knife slowly against Imrahil's flesh. To Gedrinel's horror, a trickle of red appeared at its point. He was desperately trying to formulate some sort of plan when he heard the blessedly welcome twang of a bow, followed in short order by the whistle of an arrow and an unexpectedly high-pitched scream from the fat man. The knife fell from his useless hand, and Imrahil, with remarkable agility, jammed a shoulder up into the man's chin before twisting and rolling from his grasp. 

Less than a second later Gedrinel heard the shrill approach of another arrow. A thud and a loud groan behind him confirmed that it had met its mark. Craning over his shoulder, he saw Legolas race from the trees, his bow drawn and arrow notched, every inch of him blazing righteous fury. 

"Touch him again, and you will learn the meaning of pain before you die!" the elf cried, towering over the cringing leader, who had fallen back to the ground and was clutching his pierced shoulder.

"Oh, isn't he magnificent?" Kallim breathed.

"Never mind that," Gedrinel said curtly, "Lean this way - I've a knife in my boot. Legolas! There's another one down the slope!"

Legolas was bending over Imrahil, a long blade flashing as he cut the prince's bonds. He paused only to exchange a few quiet words with his lover, then stood, a look of distaste colouring his fair features as he turned to the writhing, groaning bandit chief. A swift, powerful kick to the jaw silenced the man completely, then the elf was off, flying to the top of the ridge with his bow at the ready. 

As Legolas disappeared from view, Gedrinel peered behind Kallim at the body lying prone in a pool of blood, an arrow protruding from his thigh. Satisfied that the whimpering man could cause them no trouble, he turned his attention to extracting the dagger from his boot and starting on the rope around his ankles. By the time he had his feet free, Imrahil had staggered across, the chief's knife in his hand, and was working on his wrists. 

"Praise the gods for your safety!" Gedrinel said with feeling. 

"Aye, and no thanks to me," added Kallim. "How could I have left you so vulnerable? I can only offer my humble apologies."

"Balderdash!" retorted Imrahil smartly, sawing through the final loop and leaving Gedrinel and Kallim rubbing their arms in relief. "Were it not for your swift action earlier, I would have been a dead man before these blackguards ever arrived on the scene. The fault in this ridiculous shambles was my own. I let him catch me from behind without even knowing he was there, like a muddle-headed youngster with no experience of war." From his tone it was clear that he was genuinely angry with himself.

"You were not yourself!" remonstrated Kallim. "The gekhiyeh's sting would have left a lesser man unconscious for half a day." 

"Hmmph." Imrahil was clearly not impressed by the argument, but he accepted Gedrinel's arm without protest as they walked over to the edge, to find out what had become of Legolas.

They saw him standing at the bottom of the slope, watching with some amusement as the third brigand, looking utterly terrified but otherwise unharmed, scrabbled up over the rocks towards them.

"This one is remarkably cooperative," called the elf, stepping delicately from boulder to boulder in the unhappy wretch's wake. "He had decided to abandon his friends and make off with the horses, but had not gone more than two hundred yards before I caught him. I think he might be prepared to tell us a great deal, if I show him my knives again."

This last comment was accompanied by a smile that struck a chill in Gedrinel's heart. Where was the sweetly beautiful elf who had held Imrahil so lovingly in his arms? Legolas roused to a fighting fury was nothing short of a revelation.

They settled Imrahil against a large boulder close to the edge of the bank, positioning him so he could both rest and watch the horses. Kallim set about building a small fire, while Legolas and Gedrinel chivvied and dragged the three men into one sorry group. Gedrinel secured the prisoners' hands and feet with ropes before standing back to assess their condition. The leader was still unconscious, the second man nearly so, having lost a great deal of blood from his leg wound, and the third prostrated with fear. His gibbering meant little to Gedrinel, but seemed to cause Kallim a good deal of merriment.

"He will do anything for us, he says, so long as the avenging spirit does not steal his soul through his eyes again. You certainly know how to make an impression on the locals, my friend." Kallim grinned at Legolas, who answered him in kind. 

"Perhaps you and I should question him now, while he is in the right frame of mind. I am sure there are those in the nearby villages who would dearly like to know more of these felons' activities," the elf said. He finished binding the second man's leg and stood, his bloodied arrow in his hand. "It will be some time before this one can walk normally, but he will live," he announced.

"I fail to see why we should let him do so," said Kallim, as they turned their backs on the bandits and rejoined Imrahil by the fire. "He will only go on to attack others the moment he is well. Better that we slit their throats and be done with them, than worry about preserving their lives."

"That is not for me to decide," said Legolas mildly, crouching beside Imrahil and taking his hand. 

The prince smiled at him weakly. "I am in two minds," he admitted. "Gedrinel, what do you think?"

Gedrinel paused to balance the water can on three stones above the flame before replying. "I agree with Kallim," he said shortly. At sea there would be no need for a discussion. Opposing armies' warriors were captured and imprisoned, pirates dispatched over the side without ceremony.

"If this was my own land, I might find it easier to take your view," the prince mused. "But here, where I know so little of the customs and manners, I find I am unwilling to dispense such swift justice."

"Then let me do it." Kallim was on his feet, his sword drawn and gleaming. "The prospect does not trouble my conscience in the least."

"I appreciate your willingness to take it upon yourself," said Imrahil gently, leaning against Legolas, who had folded himself into a sitting position and placed a protective arm around the prince. "But my heart would be easier if we were to take them to S'fayyah with us and deliver them to a more conventional court than this one. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive." Kallim sketched a respectful bow. "The decision is entirely yours, my friend. I am only concerned about the extra hours we will add to our journey by dragging these monsters with us. Dusk will be upon us soon, and we have over three hours to travel if we take it at a walk."

Gedrinel looked dubiously from Imrahil to Kallim. The southerner was quite right; with two comatose prisoners and one injured companion they would struggle even to keep up a steady slow pace.

"We shall manage," said Imrahil. His tone was amiable, but it was quite clear that his decision was final.

"Take the dereshi roots." Legolas, still wrapped around Imrahil, held out a bundle of unappetising grey objects to Kallim, who accepted them and rolled them between his hands.

"We boil them for five minutes, until the water thickens," Kallim said, crossing to the fire and dropping the roots in the pot, "and there should be enough paste to last until the wound heals completely. With luck, Imrahil's elven blood will hasten the process." He stirred the water for a few seconds, then settled into a crouch beside Gedrinel, placing a hand lightly above his knee. "I am glad they did not touch you," he murmured for the captain's ears alone.

"They were rough with you, the filthy bastards" Gedrinel replied fiercely, acutely aware of the warm touch on his leg, "If Imrahil were not so set on taking them with us, I would wring that little one's neck for you. Are you badly hurt?"

"Not badly." Kallim gazed at him with a melting look, his eyes even brighter than usual. 

"I believe we might reach S'fayyah in less than three hours," Legolas was saying, “if we tie the biggest one to Imrahil's horse, and the other two together on mine. Gedrinel, your grey is a sturdy beast; it should carry both you and Imrahil relatively easily. He is not well enough to ride alone. Kallim can take the packs. They will be well-laden, but should be able to manage more than a slow walk."

"And what about you?" asked Kallim.

"I shall run beside you," the elf said simply. "It will do me no harm to loosen my legs, and I shall be at the ready if any of our prisoners should wake and try to cause us trouble."

There was genuine enthusiasm in Legolas's voice. He must be looking forward to the run, even in this heat, thought Gedrinel. He caught Kallim's eye and shook his head slightly, indicating his astonishment. Charming company as the elf might be, there could certainly be no mistaking him for a human.

*****************

 

It took a while to load the horses with their unusual arrangements of baggage, but once on the road the journey itself lasted little over two hours. For Gedrinel, the ride was not a comfortable one. He sat back in the saddle and held the reins around Imrahil, who leaned against him heavily for much of the time, drifting in and out of sleep. The sensation of having the prince in his arms, warm and trusting, awoke a number of emotions in Gedrinel, the least confusing of which was an understandably protective anxiety. Luckily, once they started to move, he was far too preoccupied with keeping them both upright to consider the rest. Kallim, rather more confident of Imrahil's imminent recovery than Gedrinel, cast him a knowing look or two, but remained mercifully silent.

True to his word, Legolas ran easily between the two horses carrying the bandits, holding the reins of both and setting a steady pace. The big man had come to his senses early in the proceedings and had shown a tendency to whine about his undignified and no doubt uncomfortable position - slung across the saddle with his arms and legs secured below. Legolas had solved the problem by fashioning a gag out of a ball of rags and some rope, and they had heard no more complaints. The other two captives held their tongues, though whether from choice or due to incapability, Gedrinel could not be sure.

By the time S'fayyah came into sight, the sky had already darkened to a rich indigo and the distant palms were outlined against a backdrop of stars. The town stood enclosed by high walls, with fertile ground stretching wide to left and right. According to Kallim, the oasis itself, with its natural springs and salt lake, lay over to the northeast. "Tomorrow you will see how spectacular it is," he said.

Approaching the gates, they had slowed to a walk so as not to draw unnecessary attention to themselves. None the less, by the time they passed under the massive, carved wooden lintel set into the great mud brick wall, they had acquired quite an entourage. Several small boys, one old man with a donkey and cart, and an assortment of mangy dogs were vying for position in the procession.

Kallim leaned down to one of the more intelligent-looking urchins and offered him a friendly greeting. The lad responded with enthusiasm, and they launched into a long and animated conversation, punctuated by jeers and noises of assent from the rest of the crowd. As they ambled along the street doors opened and faces appeared, peering through windows and over roof parapets to see what the fuss was about. Dogs barked, and the occasional goat meandered across their path.

"I think we can safely forget any idea of remaining inconspicuous," Imrahil muttered.

The captain laughed, and turned to Kallim. "What was all that about?" he asked.

"It's a long time since I passed through this place. I was checking with our friend here if Jered's is still the best inn in town. He assures me it is, that Jered has recently added another floor, and that it now has accommodation quite grand enough for the northern lord," Kallim replied, nodding significantly at Imrahil. 

Of course, leading the horses in the near dark, and swathed in his cloak and rifaayek, Legolas had attracted little notice. He had pulled the scarf forward over his face and had somehow contrived to walk with a slight but convincing stoop. To Gedrinel's eye, it was a passable imitation of a servant.

Jered's inn turned out to be on the far side of town, at the edge of a moderately large square. It was a long, rambling building with a big enclosed courtyard. The boy must have run ahead to warn the host of their impending arrival, as two hefty individuals had already opened the gates and were poised to shoo their unwanted attendants away.

Jered himself was waiting in the courtyard to greet them effusively in basic, but effective, Westron. He was a small man, excessively wrinkled, but with lively black eyes and a ready smile. He clearly ran his establishment with an efficient hand; within moments of their entry through the heavy wooden gates, the travellers were installed on comfortable couches as their horses were led away and the captured bandits bundled roughly into a corner. Kallim had explained how they came to be included in the party, and a messenger had been sent to bring the appropriate authorities to deal with them.

The sweet lemon tea Jered set before them was undoubtedly the best that Gedrinel had tasted. He sipped it appreciatively, and tried to follow Kallim's discussion of accommodation and terms with the old man. As far as he could tell, there was some debate about the number of rooms needed, with Kallim agreeing diplomatically that two would suffice, if they were indeed as palatial as Jered was suggesting. 

As his mind drifted from the overly rapid conversation, Gedrinel let his gaze wander across the courtyard. A large number of servants were hurrying around with trays and cleaning materials. They were all neatly dressed in white robes and hats, and most were tall and dark skinned, people of the far south. Two groups of guests were seated on couches at the other side of the yard, about seven men in total. By their manner and dress, all appeared to be merchants from somewhere in the north of Umbar. 

The courtyard itself was cleanly swept, well lit by torches in sconces around the walls, and decorated with troughs of flowering plants. A luxuriant vine, heavy with dark grapes, grew up the far wall. Near the well in the centre of the space a family of thin kittens was playing. Gedrinel regarded them approvingly. Whatever nasty bugs lay in wait for him here, at least the rodent problem should be under control. Trying not to think about biting insects, he turned his attention back to his companions.

Legolas had, by this time, removed his outer garments and revealed himself as companion to 'Endariel' rather than servant. Watching the innkeeper carefully, Gedrinel had the distinct impression that the old man was well aware of the pair's true identities, but was professional enough to respect the time-honoured traditions of incognito travel. Furthermore, he and his staff were rather more sophisticated than the local people they had encountered so far. No doubt many were longing to stare at Legolas, but nobody was openly doing so. Perhaps, having heard the negotiations over prices for a week's stay, they knew that there would be time enough.

Before they could go inside to look at the rooms in question, there was a flurry of activity at the gate and a party of self important men marched into the courtyard. Even before Kallim translated Jered's comments, it was obvious that the two in front, older men and richly dressed by provincial standards, were elders of the town. The remaining five, three of whom were particularly burly, were there to cart the prisoners away. This they did without delay, while the two officials stopped at the table to speak with the travellers. 

Kallim described the sequence of events succinctly, and the men nodded, bowing to Imrahil and Legolas with respectful gestures. Then they spoke quietly between themselves before addressing a question to Imrahil, with Kallim's help.

"They are most grateful for our work in capturing these brigands," Kallim translated. He made an admirable attempt to keep his face and voice neutral as he continued, "But they are curious to know why we brought them here, rather than finishing them off where they attacked us."

Imrahil, fully alert in spite of his evident weariness, said patiently, "Please explain that we did not feel it was our place, as visitors to this country, to take such a step."

Kallim communicated this to the officials, with one or two embellishments, and they seemed reasonably satisfied.

"They say they understand, but that it would have been quite acceptable for us to take our revenge at once. It is what any man of the town would have done," came the reply.

The younger of the two officials added another comment in a humourless tone, and the elder frowned at him, clearly wishing him to silence. 

"He says Bihal would have dealt each of them a hundred cuts and left them there alive for the hiyenya," Kallim added.

"Who is Bihal?" asked Gedrinel, forgetting his role as squire for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a meaningful look passing between Imrahil and Legolas.

Neither of the men seemed particularly keen to answer the question. They looked at each other warily, then one of them muttered an unwilling response.

"A... there is no direct word for it - a strong man of the town," Kallim said. "One who has assumed power, if you like."

Much as Gedrinel would have liked to pursue the matter further, it was clearly not the time to do so. The men of S'fayyah were once again bowing as they made their farewells, and Legolas and Imrahil were delighting them with their responses in Haradin. Gedrinel remembered his own supposed station and touched his forehead respectfully as the men turned from the table, then sat back and swigged down the last of his lemon tea.

"Well, that is that," said Imrahil thankfully. "Perhaps now we could inspect these luxurious rooms? I have a powerful need for my bed."

"I should think so," Kallim responded. "Dress the wound with the dereshi paste and drink plenty of water before sleeping, and you should wake refreshed in the late morning. That should be the last of it, but it would be wise to stay here tomorrow, and to leave our desert trip for the following day."

"Of course," Legolas interjected, before Imrahil could attempt a protest. "A day of relaxation will do none of us any harm. I dare say we shall find something amusing to do with our time."

Kallim looked at Gedrinel and smiled wickedly, then licked an imaginary drop of tea from the corner of his mouth. "Yes," he agreed. "We shall find something to do."

*****************

 

Sirek, zereniyya!: Fuck, my captain!


	12. Chapter 12

Blinking in the bright sunlight streaming through the high windows, Imrahil rolled onto his side, then sat up on the edge of the wide bed. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply, caught unaware by the wave of queasiness that swept through him. Legolas shifted across the mattress behind him, and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"What is it, my love?" the elf enquired anxiously.

"Nothing, it is nothing." His reply came out too quickly.

"You should lie down again. You have not yet recovered your strength. Please, rest."

"I am perfectly well," the prince lied, "and I have no wish to stay here all day when there is the town to look at, not to mention the palm groves and the lake."

Legolas shifted again, pressed close to Imrahil, a knee to either side of him. The elf nuzzled the prince's neck, pushing the hair aside to lick the skin beneath. In spite of his protests, Imrahil found himself leaning back into his lover's warm body and accepting his comfort gratefully.

"The town, the palm groves and the lake can wait until tomorrow. What do I have to do to persuade you to lie down again?" Legolas whispered, the intimate breath across damp flesh making Imrahil shiver. "I will lie with you, and watch over you as you sleep."

Powerless to refuse such an offer, Imrahil allowed himself to be guided back down onto the soft pillows and rested there, sighing happily, as gentle hands stroked the damp locks back from his face before straying lower, and lower still. 

"If you want me to sleep, you will have to stop doing that," he breathed after a while, arching his hips up as the elf's head dipped to meet them. 

Legolas laughed in the low, seductive way that never failed to make Imrahil's heart pound. "If I ensure that you are thoroughly spent first, perhaps you will be more inclined to remain here in my arms." He bent back to his task, his deft hands and hot mouth an irresistible combination.

"If you want me to stay, I shall stay," Imrahil gasped. "I do not think I could ever refuse you."

"Then do as I ask you now," the elf murmured, somewhat indistinctly. "Come; let me have my fill of you."

Imrahil twisted pale gold hair between his fingers as he gave himself up to the sensation, exploding in a perfect arc of pleasure that ebbed away slowly, leaving him heavy with weariness.

"My love, my golden prince," Legolas whispered a little later, nestling into his side. 

Imrahil heard something more than affection in the elf's voice, and turned to stare into his eyes. Sure enough, the haunted expression he had seen last night was present once again. In all the strength and wisdom of his infinite years, it seemed that Legolas was ill-equipped to deal with the notion of frail human mortality. Imrahil's unfortunate brush with disaster had shaken his lover more than he could possibly have imagined.

"All is well," he said soothingly. "It was a foolish accident, nothing more. It will not happen again."

"Perhaps your encounter with the gekhiyeh was bad luck, but allowing you to be captured by the bandits was unforgivable." Legolas's voice was suddenly fierce. "You are right, it will not happen again. I will be more careful in future."

"You cannot take the blame upon yourself, beloved. In truth, we were all careless, and we have all learned from our mistakes. But I am with you now, and as I say, all is well. Come here, and I will show you how much recovered I am."

Where his words had failed him the night before, his actions had seemed to offer effective reassurance. Imrahil pulled Legolas towards him and kissed him, gently at first, but with increasing vigour as he sensed the elf's growing arousal.

Perhaps spending the day in bed was not such a bad idea after all.

********************

 

Late in the morning Imrahil woke again, feeling clear-headed and ravenously hungry. Legolas was leaning up on one elbow, regarding him intently. 

The prince yawned, and stretched his arms above his head. "Breakfast," he pronounced.

Legolas bent to kiss his brow and pulled away smiling. "Now I am convinced that you are recovered," he said. "I shall call Kallim, and ask him to arrange for a feast to be brought to us."

"Is Kallim still here? I would have expected him to be about the town on business long before this."

"If my ears do not deceive me, our friends have decided to follow your excellent example and spend the morning in bed." Legolas's face took on an unnaturally innocent look that did not fool Imrahil for a moment.

"And are they itching, or is it your elven hearing that leads you to that conclusion?" Imrahil raised a hand to fondle one of the ears in question, noting with delight how the elf leaned into his touch.

"There is no itching, but I have heard enough to say that Gedrinel and Kallim are in a most amicable mood."

Imrahil raised an eyebrow and stared across the room. Jered had put them in the inn's most luxurious suite, airy and spacious, on the upper floor. A small but charming seating area, open on one side to the courtyard, separated the two sleeping chambers. With both the connecting doors closed, it formed an effective sound barrier, at least as far as human hearing was concerned. Elves, it would seem, were another matter. What had Legolas heard? An illicit thrill ran through Imrahil as he considered the possibilities. Later on he would pin the elf down and force him to divulge details, but just now his stomach was demanding that breakfast take precedence over all other concerns.

"Well, if you think it is a good moment to interrupt them, perhaps you could suggest that we eat together in there," he said, indicating the door to the shared space with a lazy wave of the arm. If Legolas insisted on treating him like an invalid, he may as well make the most of it.

"That is exactly what I shall do." The elf sprang from the bed and went to crouch by his pack, arising moments later with a long, tunic-style robe of fine white cotton over his arm. "Shall I find yours?" he asked.

"Please." Imrahil propped himself up on the pillows, the better to admire his lover's lithe form as he searched for the matching robe, brought it across to the end of the bed, then pulled his own garment over his head.

The prince strained his ears as Legolas disappeared through the connecting door. He heard the loud knock, the shouted response, the pause before another door creaked open and cheerful greetings were exchanged. An image of Gedrinel and Kallim, sprawled together naked across the wide divan, had formed itself unbidden in his mind. It supplanted the memory of the unforgettable scene in the Khimmet library, of Gedrinel tensed and ecstatic with Kallim’s dark head clutched to his groin, that had been lurking there for the past two days. He shook his head, muttering, "What has become of me?" and rose unsteadily from the bed to wash.

A glance at Gedrinel and Kallim was enough to confirm Legolas's confident assertion that all was well between them. The captain had not quite lost his awkwardness, his care not to sit too close to or touch his lover, but he could do nothing to disguise his expression of complacent satisfaction. It was the unmistakeable look of a man who has just spent an hour or more engaged in activity of the most pleasurable nature. 

Kallim, meanwhile, was radiating contentment. The dark stubble on his jaw gave him a rather rough, dashing look, against which the gold in his ears gleamed enticingly. His huge, expressive eyes rarely strayed from Gedrinel, and everything in his manner spoke of his happiness. He seemed quite unconstrained by the presence of others; with small touches and solicitous gestures he proclaimed his attachment to the captain over and again. As Imrahil watched, his amusement changed to a growing recognition. Does Gedrinel realise, he wondered, just how much in love with him the boy is? 

They breakfasted on eggs and salads, fruits and salty white cheese, freshly baked bread and strong coffee. The prince had already agreed with Legolas that their companions should be told the story of Bihal and Rekia before they set out into the town, but he made no mention of it while they ate. The delicious food deserved their full attention. Moreover, it would not do to speak of such delicate matters in a semi-open space, with the ever attentive servants coming and going.

Once they reached the point when even Imrahil could eat no more, they retired into the chamber he shared with Legolas and settled themselves on the low couches beneath the window. Then the prince shared the sorry tale in all its detail, stressing the need for caution, however they should choose to proceed. Meh'ten had not given them a letter to take to Rekia, but Imrahil had lost none of his determination to find out the truth of the matter, and to do whatever he could to resolve it.

Gedrinel seemed unsurprised when Bihal's name was mentioned, but his face took on a look of grave concern as the tale unfolded. Once Imrahil came to the end of his story, the captain cleared his throat. "What I cannot understand," he said, "is why you did not share all this with Brenhir before setting out."

Imrahil thought for a moment. "Partly because of Meh'ten's fear for his sister, but also for more selfish reasons," he admitted. "If Brenhir had thought that we intended to look into the affairs of a possible troublemaker, he would likely have insisted on sending a gaggle of his men with us. It would have been hard to refuse him, and as you know, that would have ruined the journey, to my mind."

"Yet, if this Bihal is as strong a man as the evidence seems to suggest," the captain persisted, "I fail to see what the four of us might do. We can hardly march into his house and demand justice according to our own, foreign standards."

"Gedrinel is right," Kallim added. "Although there is probably little love for him in the town - the word jidaaneh means one who has seized a type of power for himself through strength, rather than having been granted it by the wishes of the men of the village - if the law is on his side in the matter of his marriage it will be hard to move against him."

"And does the law give him the right to mistreat his wife?" interjected Legolas.

"I am afraid that there is little protection for women or children against wrongs dealt out to them within the home," said Kallim. "The man is deemed to be master of his own household, and is left to run it as he sees fit. If this Rekia has a powerful family of her own, they may be able to intervene; but otherwise she is at her husband's mercy."

Legolas nodded, his face taking on a closed look. He said nothing, but dropped his eyes to his hands, folded neatly on his crossed legs. Imrahil was not alone in interpreting his silence.

"You may say it, my friend," Kallim assured him gently. "I would be the last person to argue that all the customs of my country are just." 

The elf shook his head. "I try to comprehend the ways of men," he said quietly, "but there are times when my understanding fails me. That the law should condemn your own people to a life of misery and bondage..." He sighed, but said no more.

Realising that there was little he could do or say to lighten his lover's mood, Imrahil pressed on with the discussion, asking Kallim for his opinion on the best way forward. The youth was confident that he could gather the information they needed within the space of an afternoon.

"I will talk to the market traders with a view to doing business with them, and in the course of conversation we will speak of the big men of the town. I won't ask about Bihal specifically, but I'm certain his name will be mentioned. There is nothing these types enjoy more than gossiping about those who are superior to them in wealth or status. By the end of the day I should be able to tell you a good deal about this jidaaneh."

"Will I be a hindrance to you?" Gedrinel asked. "I could stay here if you think I'll get in the way."

"Hardly." Kallim turned to him with a look fit to melt stone. "I plan to introduce you as my business associate from the north; I think your presence will lend me credibility. And I have no intention of letting you out of my sight for a whole afternoon."

Even Legolas could be seen to be suppressing a grin at Gedrinel's gruffly incoherent response. Imrahil noted it with pleasure, and vowed silently that he would spend the rest of the day doing whatever was necessary to restore to the elf's fair features his serene, contented smile.

********************

 

The evening was drawing on by the time Gedrinel and Kallim returned to the inn. Kallim was smooth and fresh-faced, while Gedrinel's beard had been trimmed in a neat and stylish manner. Both men had about them a brisk, businesslike air that contrasted sharply with Imrahil's mood of languid indulgence.

"We have much to tell you," Gedrinel said, "but not here."

"Do you feel well enough for a visit to the baths?" Kallim continued. "It means a walk of four hundred yards, no more, and it will be a most enjoyable experience."

As soon as he heard the words, Imrahil was unpleasantly aware of the stickiness of his skin and the stale, heavy atmosphere in the room. "It is an excellent suggestion," he enthused. 

They took the walk at a leisurely pace, allowing Imrahil to wonder at the bustle of activity around them. They passed through narrow streets with meagre chickens and cats darting across their path, and lines of linen hanging between the buildings above their heads. Dark haired, bright eyed children called to them, men stared openly, and shy, veiled women peeked from doorways. Legolas had donned his grey cloak and rifaayek, but it seemed to make little difference; all eyes were upon them.

"I took the liberty of reserving the bath for our private use," said Kallim, as the domed building came into view. "It will give us the chance to talk in private, and I thought you would prefer not to have half the town gaping at you."

"That was most considerate." 

The building had a beautifully tiled entrance that seemed almost too grand for its purpose. Had it not been for the tall chimney belching pungent wood smoke at the rear, Imrahil might have believed that they were entering a place of worship. Inside, they were greeted by a large, effusive man of advancing years, and two strapping youths, one with mahogany-dark skin against which his teeth gleamed startlingly white, the other dusky, like Kallim, with a mop of rich black curls. All three were naked, but for the blue cloths wrapped and tucked around their waists. While the older man fussed over them, both the others bowed respectfully to the northerners before turning to grin at Kallim and slap his shoulders with a flurry of incomprehensible banter.

"Evennet Meddi will keep the public from the door," announced Kallim, indicating the older man, "while Yeni and Sha'ed will see to the furnace and rub us down when we are ready. Not a word of Westron between them. So long as we refer only to 'the man,' we may speak freely here."

"Very good." Imrahil grinned. Clearly, an interesting experience lay ahead, somewhat different from the lazy soak with friends that constituted a trip to the bath houses in the north.

The first surprise came when the four travellers emerged from the tiny wooden cubicles, stripped of their robes and clad only in the blue cloths. Imrahil looked around at his companions and gasped in shock before he could stop himself.

There was nothing unfamiliar about Gedrinel's solidly masculine body. He and Imrahil had swum together through crystal seas on countless occasions, comfortable and unselfconscious in their nakedness. The captain's sallow skin was liberally sprinkled with dark hair on the chest, arms and legs. He had acquired an interesting collection of bites -at least some of which appeared to be the work of insects - in the course of their journey; but in other respects nothing had changed.

Kallim was another matter. When they had washed together in the pool near the nomads' camp the light had been failing, and in any case, Imrahil had been too concerned with splashing himself to stare at anyone else. This was the first time he had taken in the southerner's sleekly muscled build, the smooth brown expanse of his chest, and, gods, the gold rings hanging from his nipples, utterly impossible to ignore. Imrahil had never seen anything quite like it. Was he looking at some sort of tribal fetish, a mere aesthetic adornment, or did the rings have an altogether more sensual purpose? If his own feverish response was not enough to answer the question, the knowing smirk he saw on Kallim's face when he finally managed to raise his eyes gave him all the confirmation he needed. 

"Are you ready for the steam room?" Kallim was asking innocently. 

Ready? Imrahil swallowed hard. By the Valar, he would need more than a rub down by the time this was over. He followed Kallim and Gedrinel silently, not risking a glance at Legolas. There was no need to look around; he could sense the elf's amusement as unmistakeably as if he could see the smile curving those perfect lips.

They passed through the grand domed chamber, skirting the enormous marble slab at its centre. 

"That's where you'll be scrubbed and soaped later," Kallim informed them. "The hot water is on the left, cold on the right." He pointed to the vaulted halls leading off from the main chamber, each of which harboured a huge stone trough and a collection of metal pitchers ranged along the tiled benches. "And here is the steam room. Tenayirek," he added to the two youths, who stepped to the side politely to let the travellers pass.

Once the door of the steam room closed behind them, Kallim removed his waist cloth and hung it over a peg on the wall. Imrahil turned quickly from the sight of the dark flesh hanging heavily amidst the mass of black curls between his thighs, only to find Legolas, quite naked, stretching himself out on his side on the uppermost of the three deep steps along the left wall. With his hair neatly braided and not a drop of sweat upon him, he was as composed as ever. 

The elf indicated the step below him with barely a grin. Determined not to make a complete fool of himself, Imrahil unwrapped his own cloth and threw it to one side. He positioned himself face down, head pillowed on his arms, with some semblance of confidence. After smiling up at Legolas, he turned to look at the others.

Gedrinel was sitting back on the middle step on the opposite side of the room, while Kallim strode to the far wall, a strangely curved construction with a low stone barrier following its base at a distance of some two feet. 

"The furnace is behind here," the southerner explained. He dipped a copper ladle in a large terracotta vat and splashed its contents against the wall. There was a loud and lengthy hiss, and the room immediately filled with hot, herb-scented steam. Four or five more scoops of water made the atmosphere almost unbreathable. Kallim then returned to Gedrinel's side, giving an irritated sigh as he sat down.

"I forgot about my hair, again," he said. "It's always a nuisance after the steam."

"Let me," Gedrinel replied at once. Imrahil watched through the damp haze as Kallim swung his legs up onto the step and presented his back to the captain, allowing Gedrinel's large, blunt hands to work swiftly through his thick, glossy locks. Gedrinel had a sailor's skill, of course. Within seconds Kallim was sporting a tidy pigtail that would have done credit to an elf.

“There,” Gedrinel said, touching Kallim’s shoulder.

"Thank you, zereniyya,” Kallim murmured. He reached up and took hold of Gedrinel’s wrist, then twisted round to place a lingering kiss on the back of his hand. While Imrahil stared, fascinated, Kallim ran his lips along Gedrinel’s forefinger and took it suddenly in his mouth. The captain pulled his hand away, and Kallim extended his tongue and flicked it around the retreating fingertip. At the same time, he turned his lovely dark eyes towards Imrahil. 

Confused and aroused in equal measure, Imrahil forced himself to look elsewhere, but not before Kallim’s slight shift upon the stone bench had brought his burgeoning erection into plain sight. It was enough to set Imrahil's belly on fire and render his own cock painfully hard beneath him. He turned his head, pressing closed eyes into his forearms, and struggled to draw breath into his burning lungs. When Legolas, without warning, ran a hand down his spine, ending with fingers dancing lightly in the small of his back, he feared he might lose himself completely. 

"Are you well, my prince?" the elf asked in a low voice. 

"Yes," Imrahil gasped unconvincingly.

"Perhaps there is too much steam for one who is not accustomed to this," Kallim said evenly. "My apologies, Endariel. I shall let in a little fresh air." 

Imrahil turned his head again to see the heavy door opening. He gulped gratefully as the cooler air rushed into the room, and as his mind cleared he noticed the two Haradin youths sitting just outside. Kallim was giving them no chances to overhear anything interesting, it seemed.

"Now, what news do you have for us?" Legolas asked as the door shut once more. "Were you able to learn much of the man in question?"

"Rather too much for comfort." It was Gedrinel who replied, and there was little cheer in his voice. "I did not need to understand the words to know how frightened the townspeople are of him."

"What is it that makes them so afraid?" said Legolas.

"Everyone we spoke to gave us the same impression, but nobody was keen to go into detail. Reading between the lines, I would say that he is not only a violent man and a bully, but also a believer." Kallim gave a strange emphasis to the word. Imrahil, his heart beating a little more calmly now, turned to peer at the southerner's serious expression.

"A believer?" queried the elf.

"It is the best I can do to translate the term." Kallim nodded emphatically towards the door. "It's the word we use to describe the true followers of the Dark Lord, practitioners of the evil arts."

This was enough to rouse Imrahil completely. He pushed up onto an elbow and stared at Kallim in confusion, blinking the sweat from his eyes. "A true follower of Sau - the evil one?" he said. "Even now?"

"There are still a few," Kallim replied. "You will understand that for most Haradin people the cult of the Dark Lord was entirely a matter of survival. Chant a few words here, sacrifice a goat there - if it means our families and businesses are left alone, we will do it without too much protest. After centuries of occupation, the subjects learn well how to please the master, yet to retain their own values at heart. Under Elessar's rule you will not find many who cling to the old enforced beliefs, and yet there will always be some. It is a religion that appeals to the cruel; it suits them to continue in its ways."

"Like our man."

"So it would seem."

"And do you think he has some mystical power, or has he simply bought his strength?" Imrahil probed.

"I would say the townspeople are convinced that he uses the dark arts for his own ends, but he is also enormously wealthy."

"He buys and sells land, gold and carpets," interjected Gedrinel, "although there are probably other trades taking place as well."

"For example, child slaves, unspeakable objects for ritual use, or possibly worse," clarified Kallim.

Imrahil gazed at him in horror. "Worse than child slaves? Then we have truly found ourselves a monster. Does he have many followers here?"

"It's hard to say," Kallim replied thoughtfully. "Of course, we could not ask the questions directly."

"I think people cooperate with him because they fear him," Gedrinel added. "Nobody likes him, or wants anything to do with him. No doubt he'll have a few henchmen, ruffians like himself, but other than that..."

"Why does Brenhir not know of this man?" Legolas said suddenly. 

"Perhaps he does." Imrahil knew better than to underestimate the governor's subtlety. He may have thought it safer to keep the knowledge to himself.

"It's my guess that the man in question has contacts in Umbar who work to keep his activities quiet. He certainly has trading associates," Kallim countered. "There are believers in the city too, and plenty who will overlook a man's unpleasant allegiances for the sake of a bag of gold."

Imrahil, his mind now fully occupied with the problem in hand, slid wetly across the marble step and rolled into a sitting position. He brushed the water from his brow and stared at Kallim and Gedrinel. "This news troubles my heart," he said. "The situation is far more serious than I had imagined. There may be little we can do but gather what information we can and take it back to the governor."

"You're quite right," Kallim agreed. "For all the locals may wish to be rid of him, he is firmly established here. He has a large house on the south side of town, near the Hammeyet road, and he runs it like a fortress. The people avoid it, saying it is cursed. One or two of them spoke sympathetically of his wife, locked up there like a prisoner."

"I am astonished that you managed to learn so much in so short a time, and yet did nothing to raise suspicions."

"Believe me, there's an art to it," Gedrinel said wryly. "It takes years to learn if you're not born to it, but Kallim is naturally gifted. It wasn't a matter of coming straight to the point. You wouldn't credit what a wealth of fascinating information we have gathered regarding the other big men of the town."

"The question is, I suppose, what do we do now?" Imrahil twisted round to look up at Legolas. The elf was lying very still, seemingly unbothered by the rivulets of moisture trickling across his skin. Condensed steam, no doubt, thought Imrahil fleetingly. Even in conditions such as these, he could not imagine his beloved breaking out in a sweat. 

Legolas regarded him calmly. "I propose that we put the information to one side and make our trip into the desert before taking any further steps," he said. "There will be time enough on our return, and I would see you enjoy your longed-for adventure untroubled by plans and problems."

Imrahil smiled at his lover and nodded, understanding quite well the other, unspoken reason: if matters become difficult, a speedy return to Umbar may be called for, so let us put pleasure first.

Kallim agreed enthusiastically. "Legolas is right, and I have some suggestions about our trip which may lighten your heart. Instead of going south as we planned, we might travel north east around the lake. The dunes are higher there, and closer to the fertile land. We could ride for half a day and walk the last four miles to a shepherd's lodge - I have the name of a man at one of the date palm plantations who will stable the horses for us. The lodge is deserted during this season, but there is a well and the views are said to be magnificent. From there we can walk into the Sea of Sand, and spend a night under the stars."

"Wonderful!" Imrahil breathed, the problem of Bihal temporarily forgotten. "Tell me more of this route. Would it be practicable to set off tomorrow?"

Gedrinel got to his feet, reached for his cloth and used a corner of it to wipe his streaming face. "Might we discuss those plans outside?" he said. "I for one have had enough of this steam."

Amidst a general murmur of agreement, they rose from the steps and donned the blue cloths before heading out into the domed chamber. At Kallim's insistence they rinsed themselves with the hot water, laughing and gasping as they splashed each other. Cold water, the southerner said, was best left until after the scrubbing and the soap, if they wanted to feel truly clean. He showed them the thick golden paste and advised them to rub it in whilst the skin was warm and receptive. 

"Who will be scrubbed first?" he asked cheerfully, as they slathered themselves with the oily substance.

"I'll get it over with," said Gedrinel with an exaggerated sigh. "It's going to be painful on top of all these bites. Do tell him to take care, Kallim."

"Of course. Let me do your back, then." Kallim scooped up a handful of paste and smoothed it across the captain's broad shoulders with long, sensuous strokes.

"Will you do the same for me?" Legolas asked with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"With great pleasure." Imrahil took his time, enjoying the feel of his lover's silky flesh beneath his hands.

Gedrinel and Legolas stretched out on the great slab and the two Haradin youths stepped up to begin their work. Kallim called out words of caution to curly-headed Yeni, who was soon laughing with Gedrinel as he rubbed the captain's back and limbs with a hand encased in a roughly textured glove. Sha'ed, meanwhile, was working on Legolas in reverent silence. 

"Kallim, could you explain to Sha'ed that I am not as delicate as I may appear to his eyes," the elf said after a while. "I sense that he is holding back, and I would prefer to know the full benefit of this ritual."

Kallim chuckled and spoke quietly to the dark skinned youth. Sha'ed nodded, showed his white teeth, and set about Legolas a little more forcefully.

"Ah, yes," the elf sighed, in a tone that made Imrahil's pulse quicken. It was hard to tear his eyes away from the sight of his lover surrendering to the hands of this well-built, handsome stranger. 

"In truth, I think Sha'ed is quite overawed," Kallim commented to Imrahil in an undertone, "and rightly so. I have never seen anything so splendid as the two of you together."

There was something about Kallim's frankly admiring tone that filled Imrahil with a surge of simple affection towards him. "Thank you," he said, and added quietly, "You seem so very happy in Gedrinel's company."

Kallim gazed at Gedrinel for a moment, then turned to Imrahil with a sincere, open smile. Suddenly the sophisticated tease was nowhere to be seen; he seemed instead touchingly young. "Gedrinel is all I have dreamed of - a real man in every respect," he said. There could be no doubt that his words came from the heart. 

Imrahil felt a brief pang of anxiety for the lovely youth. Mature and confident as he seemed, his vulnerability was so close to the surface. Did Gedrinel know that Kallim's hopes were being pinned upon him? Was he even capable of returning such love? Imrahil could only hope that Kallim was not about to be badly hurt.

"I am glad to see you both content," the prince said firmly. "Now, shall we prepare each other for our turn on the slab?"

He tried to keep his mind on neutral matters as he pushed the thick pigtail to the side and smeared the paste across Kallim's back. The southerner's skin felt intriguingly different from Legolas's; coarser, hotter, and with a scattering of downy hair towards the base of the spine. He realised with a start that he had let himself linger, and looked up to see the elf gazing at him with an unreadable expression on his beautiful face. Gedrinel, thankfully, was facing the other way.

"There you are," Imrahil said briskly. "Would you return the favour?"

"Of course."

Kallim's hands moved tentatively at first, then swept across his flesh more firmly, then halted altogether as the southerner exclaimed, "But you have no hairs at all on your skin, not even on your arms or legs!"

"None."

"Like an elf?"

"Exactly."

"Astonishing," said Kallim wonderingly. Then, as his hands began to move once more, "How lucky I am to have met you."

There it was again, that unexpectedly youthful innocence, so at odds with Kallim's behaviour. Did he deliberately rest his hands on Imrahil's waist for just a little too long? Could he have any idea how the prince's skin tingled at his touch?

If Sha'ed had held back with Legolas, he had certainly taken Kallim's words to heart, and spared Imrahil nothing. The rub down was not so much a sensual experience as a bracing one, although strangely enjoyable in its way. Turned onto his back by strong, practised hands, the prince watched in appalled fascination as the abrasive glove scoured thick rolls of grey dirt from his skin and left it glowing pinkly. 

"Stay there for the soaping," Kallim called cheerfully, then he stood, offering his place on the table to Legolas. Imrahil could hear the southerner talking and laughing with Gedrinel as they threw hot water around, but could not make out what they were saying. He shifted slightly so as to watch Yeni pulling an enormous sponge from a bucket and using it to cover Legolas in rich suds. Then he shut his eyes to avoid the stinging soap as Sha'ed did the same to him.

The soapy massage was delightful: smooth, firm, and just short of arousing. When it was over, Imrahil sighed with pleasure and got to his feet reluctantly. "Tenayirek," he managed. Sha'ed bowed, beaming from ear to ear.

No doubt the sight of Kallim and Gedrinel receiving the same treatment would have been an exquisite diversion in its own right. Imrahil stood back to watch, but Legolas had other ideas. He beckoned the prince to the hot water trough first, and they sluiced each other down, laughing like children. 

"Now for the cold," Legolas said, leading the way to the room on the opposite side. But once there, he caught Imrahil's arm, dragged him into the far corner out of sight of all the others, and pulled him into a close embrace. The elf's kiss was deep, hot and demanding, a kiss that drove all thoughts of Kallim and Gedrinel, Bihal and Rekia, Umbar and the Sea of Sand far from the prince's mind. By the end of it he was uncertain even of his own name.

"When we get back to the inn..." Legolas whispered, pulling away at last.

"...I am going to take you to bed and fuck you until you see stars," Imrahil replied breathlessly.

"That is exactly what I wanted to hear." Legolas gave him a grin that was surely unsuitable for an elf, then stepped back and looked him up and down. "And now I think you are truly ready for the cold water," he said.

********************

 

They set off early the next morning, walking their well-laden horses slowly through the sleepy town to the north east gate. The lakeside road was no major thoroughfare, leading as it did through farms and palm groves to the wilder lands where only the shepherds had business. None the less, there was plenty to maintain their interest as they followed the beaten mud track with the sparkling green waters on their left. Peasant families in dusty, brightly coloured robes, the women unveiled and as forward as their men folk, greeted them as they passed. Strange birds flew overhead and several times a halt was called to the procession, as Legolas dismounted to take a closer look at an unfamiliar plant that had caught his eye. Kallim did his best to keep pace with the elf's questions, but had to admit that his knowledge of local plant life was somewhat lacking. "No matter," Legolas said, smiling. "I am happy just to look."

Lunch was taken at the lakeside in the shade of a group of kaadin trees. A swim in the bitter waters followed - an unprecedented experience for Imrahil, who enjoyed floating high on the sun-warmed surface, but was less enthusiastic about the salty white scurf deposited on his skin. They tarried at the next sweet water spring they came to, rinsing themselves and stretching out in the sun to dry, then rubbing sweet oil into parched flesh and combing it through each other's hair.

It was mid afternoon when they reached the dwelling of old Gheddin, the man recommended to Kallim as reliable and knowledgeable about horses. He accepted Imrahil's gold piece eagerly, and grinned toothlessly at the mention of another on their return. They left their steeds in his care, and felt obliged to drink tea with him before they could depart, shouldering heavy packs, on the last stage of their day's journey.

By the time they reached the shepherds' lodge, night was already falling and the travellers were hot, gritty and quite exhausted. Even Legolas admitted that he was ready to rest. After bathing, they camped by the lake and enjoyed an evening of simple camaraderie around a modest fire, letting it burn itself down early so they could lie back and look at the stars, so plentiful and bright in the southern sky.

"Would you sing for us?" Imrahil asked suddenly, reaching out to touch the back of his lover's hand.

"If you wish." Legolas squeezed his fingers gently in return, then sat up cross-legged, his palms resting on his knees.

The elf's pure voice hung in the still air, each note of the ancient, haunting melody like a drop of gleaming silver. Imrahil gazed at the heavens through moist eyes, and swallowed around the lump in his throat as the song came to an end. It was Gedrinel, however, who found words first.

"That was beautiful," the captain said gruffly.

"Yes, beautiful. Thank you," added Kallim. He had edged closer to Gedrinel, Imrahil noticed, and their blankets were overlapping. 

The prince stirred himself and placed a hand on Legolas's thigh. "We will take first watch," he said to the others. "You may rest easily."

There was no reply from Gedrinel; his breathing had already slowed. Kallim murmured his agreement. By the time Imrahil and Legolas had climbed the high rock to the natural vantage point behind the camp, all was quiet at the fireside below, but their two companions had drawn still closer to each other.

For Imrahil and Legolas it was a magical night of gentle touches, sweet kisses and soft words. Apart from the harsh shriek of a bird of prey and the occasional howl of a dog-like animal, there was nothing to disturb their peace. The prince gazed out across the dark lake, then turned to stare at the mysterious dunes outlined behind them. He leaned against his lover and let his mind still.

At some point long past midnight, Legolas urged Imrahil to lie down and rest. "I shall watch alone," he said quietly. "There is little danger here, but I shall rouse you at once if anything concerns me. We need not wake the others."

"And what of you? Are you not in need of sleep?" Imrahil stretched out on the warm rock and rested his head on the elf's thigh.

"I shall sleep tomorrow, in the heat of the day," Legolas replied. "At present my heart is too full and the night too beautiful; I would not lose a moment of it."

"I shall watch with you," Imrahil insisted, but in vain. With the elf's soothing fingers caressing the side of his face, it was not long before his eyes were closing of their own accord.

********************

 

Sweating and dry-mouthed, Imrahil clambered down the sandy slope to the shaded patch of ground where Legolas lay on the blanket. The prince bent down to pick up his waterskin and swigged the last few mouthfuls thirstily.

"Is it empty?" Legolas was instantly alert, his ageless blue eyes once more reflecting the reality of the world around him.

"Yes," Imrahil replied, bending down again to kiss the top of his lover's head. "Did you sleep well?"

"Wonderfully. I feel perfectly refreshed." The elf sat up, then sprang nimbly to his feet. He reached for his own waterskin and drained it in a single draught. "Stay here in the shade," he said, "and I shall fetch more water for both of us."

"Are you sure?" They were less than half a mile from the well by the camp, but the sun was fierce. They had settled to rest under the last trees before the endless rolling dunes of the Great Sea of Sand itself. Here the views were spectacular, the temperature punishing.

"You know that the heat does not trouble me as it does you," Legolas said, "and an elf is better suited to running over soft sand than a man. Keep watch; I shall return soon." He took the empty skin from Imrahil's hand, kissed him lightly on the lips, and was gone.

The heat itself was exhausting, Imrahil decided. He had certainly done little to earn the long hours of slumber he had enjoyed this afternoon. After a lazy swim and breakfast, he and Legolas had set off to look at the desert, while Gedrinel and Kallim had elected to stay by the water. The prince and his lover had not strayed far; the four of them had already agreed that they should wait until the cool of evening before walking further into the magnificent landscape and making camp amongst the endless sands.

Legolas had barely been gone for three minutes when a cooling breeze began to blow from the direction of the lake. Imrahil turned his face towards it gratefully, then tilted his head as an unexpected sound, carried on the moving air, caught his attention. He strained to hear it again, and again, and closed his eyes as a tremor of dizzy excitement passed through him.

Decency said he should move away, but Imrahil was in the grip of a rather less virtuous compulsion. As if in a dream, he let his legs lead him down into the dip and up to the crest of the lower ridge, nearer to the lake. Sure enough, the sound was clearer there, and he sank to his knees as he listened with quickened breath and rapidly beating heart.

He was not quite able to make out the words, but the sequence of events was enough. A low growling murmur, Gedrinel's voice, then the unmistakeable thwack of leather on skin, followed by a cry from Kallim that had little to do with pain, if Imrahil was any judge. The pattern repeated itself a dozen times or more, with Imrahil’s guilty arousal growing all the while. After a time it seemed that Gedrinel had abandoned whatever implement he had been employing and adopted a more direct approach. His own grunts of pleasure were soon clearly audible, mingling with Kallim's shameless moans.

Transfixed and heated to a frenzy, Imrahil had no notion of another's presence until hands gripped his shoulders and a body dropped to its knees behind him. He let out a yelp of shock which transformed itself to a sigh of relief as Legolas's voice murmured into his ear, "My wicked prince. Did nobody teach you that it is impolite to eavesdrop?"

"I can't..." muttered Imrahil, pinned to the spot as much by his own embarrassment and lust as by the elf's grasp.

Legolas laughed and bit his neck, hard enough to make him cry out. "If you are going to listen, listen well," he said.

So Imrahil listened, quite incapable of resistance, as Kallim's cries grew louder and more frequent, and Legolas ran both hands across his chest, rubbing and flicking his hardened nipples through the fabric of his shirt. He listened as Gedrinel's shouts took on a familiar, accelerating rhythm, while the elf held him close, pressing against him from behind as one hand reached under his shirt to open the front of his trousers. He listened as Kallim's desperate groans reached a new pitch of pleading urgency, and Legolas grasped his cock and brought it out into the light, gripping and stroking him with incontrovertible authority. And he listened, adding his own moans to those carried by the wind, as Gedrinel let out a great, satisfied yell, closely followed by a shout of ecstatic relief from Kallim. Then the sound of his own cries filled his ears as Legolas brought him rapidly to his peak, laughing in his ear as the prince, shuddering uncontrollably, spilled himself onto the burning sand.

"By the gods..." Imrahil muttered, gasping for breath and struggling to stay upright. He did not have to struggle for long, as Legolas suddenly urged him forward onto his hands, then lifted his shirt above his waist.

He buried his fingers into the cooler ground as the elf pushed his trousers down roughly and rubbed against his buttocks. Fingers sticky with his own semen teased him for a moment, then Legolas was easing inside him, leaning over him, filling him beyond question. Imrahil opened his mouth to cry out, and found that his voice had failed him.

"If it gives you such pleasure to listen," Legolas was saying in a darkly wicked tone, "Think how it would be to watch." He moved his hips slowly, and Imrahil managed a single sob.

"Imagine it: your big, handsome captain with his rough hands all over that brown skin, playing with the gold rings that fascinate you so much." The elf began to thrust more deeply, increasing his tempo fractionally. Imrahil dropped down onto his elbows and shut his eyes, trying without success to form the word, "Please..."

"You said yourself that Gedrinel would make a masterful lover. Kallim must be so willing under his touch. Can you picture it? That lovely head thrown back, all that wild hair falling loose, that pretty mouth opened so invitingly..." A slight shift in Legolas's position brought tears to the prince's eyes. He could no longer distinguish between discomfort and pleasure.

"You cannot have failed to notice that your friend is uncommonly well endowed. Imagine what delicious agony Kallim must endure as he is stretched wide, pierced to the core, and ridden hard to completion." Legolas was slamming into him now, and Imrahil had remembered how to moan.

"I do not think Gedrinel is gentle with him. It is no wonder he screams so beautifully." The prince gave a scream of his own as the elf's hand reached for his cock and tugged on it mercilessly. Legolas cried, "Ahhh!" as he came, clutching Imrahil to him; and Imrahil, quite overcome, spilled himself onto the sand once more.

Imrahil regained the ability to speak coherently only after Legolas had half dragged, half carried him back into the shade and helped him to drink deeply from the waterskin. The prince stared at his lover in numb, astonished awe.

"Truly, I do not jest when I say I had no idea that an elf could be so perverse," he said at last. "I was brought up to believe that the first-born were nothing but pure and good. You never cease to amaze me."

"Am I perverse?" asked Legolas. "I only seek to please you. Do I not succeed?"

"Oh, you please me," said Imrahil hurriedly, reaching for his lover's hand. "I cannot begin to tell you how much." He thought for a moment before articulating the worry at the back of his mind, "I suppose I am a little shocked at myself, for regarding our friends in such a way."

"It would be difficult to think otherwise, under the circumstances. Do not concern yourself. Besides, do you not think that Gedrinel and Kallim might be enjoying similar speculations about us?" the elf said, grinning.

"Enough!" pronounced Imrahil. "However fond I am of our companions, at this moment I would prefer to put them from my mind. I want us to lie together tonight as if nothing else exists; just you, me, the sand and the stars. Will you help me to achieve my dream?"

"Of course." Legolas slid down onto the blanket and drew Imrahil close with a satisfied smile. "I can think of nothing better."

********************

 

Somewhere between night and morning, Imrahil lay open eyed beneath the blankets with Legolas held tightly in his arms. The night was surprisingly cold, but the prince felt as if he was cocooned in a layer of joyful warmth. Only rarely does reality outstrip a dream, he reflected, gazing at the countless stars blazing above him; I thank the Valar that such a blessing has been granted to me. He buried his face in the elf's soft hair and whispered "I love you," once again, then surrendered to the tide of sweet tenderness that washed over him as Legolas pressed a kiss to his throat and replied, "As I love you."

They had chosen the camp carefully, at a junction between two dunes where the sleepers might have some privacy, whilst knowing that all approaches were safely in the sight of those on watch. As the day drew to an end, the four companions had stood at the top of the highest mound, gazing in wonder as the setting sun painted the desert in shades of gold and red. They had eaten a simple meal almost in silence, words seeming superfluous in the midst of such a landscape. The vast, rolling emptiness was no less awesome under the inky night sky than it had been at sunset; Imrahil and Legolas, taking the first watch, had spoken in hushed tones as they looked about them.

Gedrinel and Kallim had been determined that there should be no repeat of Legolas's solitary vigil of the previous night. They had climbed the dune to take their turn earlier than expected, and had insisted that the others retire at once. 

"We will wake you for the sunrise, should it be necessary," Kallim said. "It is a sight you will not want to miss."

They had lain for a long while simply staring at the stars, sometimes talking, sometimes in silence. When they had finally made love, they had done so slowly and with infinite care. For Imrahil, the effect of every touch seemed magnified a thousand times. At the height of their passion, Legolas allowed their spirits to meet, and the sensation was both indescribably beautiful and utterly overwhelming. Imrahil had not attempted to stem the flow of his tears.

Now, in the aftermath, he was filled with a languorous contentment such as he had rarely known. He pondered the silence, the stillness of the crisp, clear air, the great dome of stars above them and the infinite sands stretching to the south and east. He contemplated the warm, sweet-scented body pressed so close to his own, the incredible fact of the elf's love for him, the loyal friends who sat guarding their night of peace; and as an understanding came to him, his eyes filled with tears again.

If this is all that comes of our journey, for me it is enough, he thought. I have achieved my dream, and I have known one perfect moment of pure, unadulterated happiness. 

********************

 

Tenayirek: thank you

Zereniyya: my captain


	13. Chapter 13

The Sea of sand by moonlight was almost enough to change Gedrinel’s mind about the desert. It was certainly a magnificent sight, humbling in its stark beauty. Even Kallim seemed a little subdued by its grandeur.

The two men sat at the crest of the dune, leaning together in quiet companionship, sated by their frantic activities earlier in the evening and sobered by the majesty of the landscape around them. Gedrinel felt calmer in mind and body than he had done for some time. The night air was blessedly chill, heavy with all the moisture driven from the ground by the fierce sun during the day. They had left the worst of the biting insects behind at the lakeside and the vicious creatures of the deeper desert were not showing themselves. Except for the cries of the birds nesting by the shore, there had been little to disturb their watch.

They had kept sleep at bay by sharing tales of their childhoods. Kallim had said nothing about his family, but told of the hunting and trading trips that had kindled the love of the desert in him at a tender age. He spoke of great feasts under the autumn moon, of nights of song and dance in exotic cities of the far south, of breathless horseback chases across the sands in the cool of half-lit mornings. Gedrinel listened attentively, recognising in his friend the storyteller’s gift, rare in one so young. 

In return the captain recalled his early days at sea as a clumsy lad aboard his uncle Fengel’s ship. He spoke fondly of the old man, that benevolent tyrant whom Gedrinel had worshipped unconditionally, even when he found himself at the receiving end of Fengel’s wrath. His mother’s eldest brother, Fengel had been determined to avoid any whisper of nepotism and had maintained high expectations of the eager youngster. Gedrinel had spent far too many hours on his knees scrubbing the decks, and had climbed into his hammock with his backside thrashed raw on more than one occasion; but in the process he had learned the self-control that makes a true seaman, and for that he was unreservedly grateful.

Kallim seemed to have a limitless appetite for Gedrinel’s tales of the sea. He greeted each anecdote with exclamations of delight and an immediate request for more. Gedrinel had never considered himself to be a natural raconteur, but he could not disappoint his audience. Warming to his subject, he outlined some of his bloodier encounters with privateers, then went on to describe the strange deadly beauty of the great ice floes of the north and the exhilarating terror of a winter storm at sea. 

Kallim was enraptured. “How I should love to experience all these things for myself,” he murmured.

Gedrinel peered at him in the half light. Was Kallim building up to a direct request? A vision of the southerner bent bare-arsed over the map chest in the great cabin formed itself in his mind, and he enjoyed a brief but powerful shock of lust. It was a tempting thought, but hardly a reasonable one. No doubt Kallim would learn to make himself useful on board quickly enough, but with his striking looks and sensual manner he would cause havoc amongst any but the most disciplined of crews. 

“What do you say? Will you take me to sea with you, zereniyya?” Kallim leaned closer, running a hand up Gedrinel’s thigh, and the captain saw his chance to avoid a direct answer. 

After a short while, Kallim sank back onto the sand, pulling Gedrinel down on top of him. The southerner wound his arms around Gedrinel’s shoulders and crooked a leg around his hips. Gedrinel responded by moving against him in a slow grinding rhythm and intensifying the kiss.

Eventually he pulled back, guilty and short of breath, despite his body’s demands to the contrary. “We’re supposed to be keeping watch,” he muttered.

“You’re right,” Kallim laughed, his own breathing loud and irregular. “And we should be waking the others soon; it’s very near to dawn.”

Gedrinel rolled to the side and sat up. “Do you really think we should disturb them? Would it not be better to leave them in peace?”

“They specifically asked us to do so, and there’ll be little chance of sleep once the sun is upon them. Come on.” Kallim was already on his feet and picking his way down the steep southeastern slope. Realising that he was loathe to be left behind, despite his doubts, Gedrinel followed.

What light there was seemed to gather itself around Legolas, almost as if he was glowing faintly against the grey. He lay on his side, one pale arm outside the blankets and draped possessively across Imrahil, his fingers buried in the prince’s abundant mane. It was a scene of such tender intimacy that Gedrinel quailed afresh at the intrusion. He laid a hand on Kallim’s arm, but before he could pull him away the elf raised his head and spoke.

“Good morning, my friends. Is all well?” His tone was sufficiently warm to still Gedrinel’s retreat.

“All is well,” replied Kallim, remorseless. 

“I’m sorry,” the captain said. “Perhaps we should have left you to sleep.”

“No, do not apologise. We agreed to watch the dawn together.” Legolas shifted under the blankets. “I shall attempt to wake Imrahil; it is rarely an easy task.”

Gedrinel plucked at Kallim’s sleeve and drew him a little to the side, trying not to watch as Legolas moved his head closer to Imrahil’s and whispered something to him. He couldn’t avoid hearing Imrahil’s weary groan of protest, nor the elf’s laughing response. The words were just out of reach, but the teasing tone was unmistakeable.

“He’d find a better way to rouse the prince if we were not here,” observed Kallim, speaking softly into Gedrinel’s ear.

“Shush!” the captain hissed.

Imrahil was awake now, and his mutterings were drawing no further laughter from Legolas.

“What is it, my love?” the elf said, the concern audible in his voice. “Has the sickness returned?”

“Sickness? No... but I was dreaming...” Imrahil pushed up to a sitting position, the blankets falling away. Legolas sat up with him, and placed an arm around his shoulder. Gedrinel watched as the elf reached for a water skin and passed it to his lover. The light, he realised, was brightening fast.

Kallim dropped into a crouch, staring silently at Imrahil and Legolas as the prince gulped down the water and shook his head. 

“It was so vivid,” Imrahil said, handing the skin back to the elf. “I am not certain what it should mean.” He spoke loudly enough to make it clear that his words were for all of them.

“Must a dream always have meaning?” asked Kallim quietly.

“This one did, of that I am sure.”

“Then it may help to tell us of it,” Legolas suggested. He brushed Imrahil’s hair back from his face with a gentle hand. Gedrinel felt something tighten in his belly as he watched the tender gesture. He lowered himself to the sand beside Kallim and averted his eyes from the pair as they sat, naked and entwined, on the blanket.

“Let me think on it for a while,” the prince said. “I am well enough now; do not trouble yourselves. I was simply disconcerted in the moment of waking.”

“I shall be less brutal with you in future,” Legolas murmured. From the corner of his eye Gedrinel saw the elf bend his head down to kiss Imrahil’s bare shoulder, for all the world as if there was nobody else present. Imrahil, equally unconcerned, sighed deeply and embraced Legolas. 

A moment passed before it occurred to Gedrinel that the prince and his lover were paying him an enormous compliment by behaving in such a relaxed manner in his presence. Surely there were few in whom they could place such trust. He held fast to the thought and felt the tension easing from his own shoulders. 

To Gedrinel’s left, Kallim sat and stretched his legs out, then turned to recline on his side, propped on one elbow. When he reached across to stroke cool fingers over the back of Gedrinel’s hand, the captain did not flinch away.

“Was your watch quiet?” Legolas was asking.

“Utterly quiet, but for the birds at the lake, and a faint bark or two,” replied Gedrinel. “Almost as peaceful as a night far out at sea. Does the desert by starlight please you?”

“It is all I had imagined and hoped for,” Imrahil said, sounding much cheered. “I can only thank you both for making all this possible.” He twisted his head round to smile briefly at the two of them, then turned his eyes back to the east. “Beautiful,” he said reverently. 

It was indeed a lovely sight. As they spoke, the inky sky had lightened to a deep, expectant blue, shading almost imperceptibly to a rich orange-pink on the eastern horizon. There, a few thin trails of cloud hung over the distant mountains. The sun’s first rays had reached the clouds, giving each a gleaming silver outline. They watched in silence as the sun itself appeared, a ball of fiery intensity surrounded by rosy splendour. Glancing about him, Gedrinel marvelled at the speed with which the light found its way down from the peaks of the dunes, colouring the sands a vibrant reddish gold and pushing the shadows before it. 

In a matter of seconds, or so it seemed, the four travellers were bathed in the early sunlight, blinking and stretching, reaching for their water skins. The dampness of the air would not linger for long. Already the heat of the day to come was making itself felt.

Gedrinel and Kallim talked quietly of the journey that lay ahead as Legolas and Imrahil threw the blankets off and pulled on their clothes. Once they had assembled their packs, Kallim smiled across at them.

“Look your last,” the southerner said. “We should return to the lake before the sun climbs much higher. If I am not mistaken, we have a punishingly hot day ahead of us.”

Before they set off on the trek back to the camp, Imrahil clambered to the top of the highest dune and gazed about him, a remote yet contented expression on his face. “I could not have asked for more,” he said when the others reached him. “I thank you again, my friends.”

“Shall we stay by the lake for a second night?” asked Kallim, as they set off down the sandy slope. “We have adequate provisions.”

“No.” The prince spoke with complete certainty. “This has been a wonderful excursion, but we cannot extend it. We must return to S’fayyah today, and look to matters there.”

“Why...” Gedrinel began, but Legolas had already made the connection.

“Your dream?” the elf said quietly.

Imrahil nodded. “The meaning of it struck me while we were watching the dawn. It was more of a vision than a dream, a vision in which Glantathar came to me. My wife,” he added, glancing at Kallim. “Her distress troubled me greatly, and I could not understand what she was asking me to do with such urgency. I understand it now. We must save Rekia, whatever the cost. I am convinced that she is in great and immediate danger.”

“That’s believable enough,” agreed Kallim. “There’s no telling what a man like Bihal might do.”

“I wonder whether he has caught wind of our interest,” Imrahil said thoughtfully. “We must proceed with doubled caution on our return, if we are to ensure Rekia’s safety. Gedrinel, why do you frown so?”

“I... ah, ‘tis nothing.” Gedrinel swallowed the word ‘sire’ that always seemed to spring to his lips when he was troubled. 

Imrahil was not to be dismissed so lightly. “Out with it, friend,” he said. 

Gedrinel cleared his throat and searched for the right words. “I do not doubt the relevance of your dream or its interpretation,” he said carefully, “but I fail to see how it changes matters in S’fayyah. We had already agreed that Bihal is too powerful a man to move against without reinforcements. If the local law is on his side, what can we do? Rekia’s situation is dreadful, but I cannot imagine how we can help her. We could even end up making her predicament far worse.”

“You are right, of course,” Imrahil sighed, “and yet I feel we must try to do something. I cannot describe the sense of my dream to you, but it has left me powerfully affected.” He turned to the elf in appeal. “Legolas, what do you think?”

Legolas looked slowly from Imrahil to Gedrinel before replying, “Such visions are a rarity, and deeply unsettling when they occur, but they should not be discounted. In my experience, when those who watch over us choose to intervene in such a manner, we do well to heed them.”

There was no answer to that, Gedrinel reflected. He gazed at Legolas in silence. The elf smiled back at him, somehow managing to communicate reassurance from the depths of his ageless eyes. Gedrinel felt the knot of anxiety in his chest loosen a little. They may be about to embark on a fool’s mission, but at least they had one of the greatest warriors in all of Arda on their side.

********************

 

Gedrinel disentangled Kallim’s arms from around his neck and fumbled for the latch with his other hand. He shoved the southerner into their chamber, kicked the door closed behind him, and leaned against it to catch his breath. Kallim did not give him much of a chance. He pressed himself up against Gedrinel, took hold of his head with both hands, and brought their mouths together once more. The captain did not even try to resist. He ran his hands over Kallim’s backside and pushed his hips forward, kissing his lover with all the authority he could muster.

By rights, they should have been in bed two hours ago or more. The journey back to S’fayyah, although pleasant and uneventful, had been a long one, and the day unusually hot even by southern standards. Upon their return, they had visited the baths again before taking a late dinner, after which Legolas and Imrahil had done the sensible thing and retired to their room. 

Instead of following suit, Gedrinel had agreed to Kallim’s suggestion that they join the party of one of their fellow residents at the inn, a northern businessman who was celebrating the closure of a successful deal with fine wine and dancing girls. They’d drunk rather too much, eaten plates of figs and sweetmeats and joined in the laughter and applause; and all throughout Kallim had teased Gedrinel relentlessly. A whispered comment, a thigh rubbing against his, the back of a hand brushing surreptitiously across his groin; not for one second had he been allowed to forget what lay ahead at the end of the evening. It was torture of the most delicious kind. 

Gedrinel had borne it for as long as he could before grasping Kallim’s wrist and growling, “Enough! We’re going to the room. Now.”

Kallim had not argued, but had stood, made their excuses and turned to leave the table before Gedrinel had managed to drain his wine goblet.

And now they were alone, and Kallim was here, moaning in his arms and teasing no longer. 

A sharp, high drum roll out in the courtyard snagged Gedrinel’s attention. He lifted his mouth from the mark he’d been inflicting on Kallim’s neck and breathed deeply between his teeth. As he glanced around the room, softly lit by a quartet of oil lamps, he heard the music of the pipes begin once more.

“They’re starting again?” he muttered. “There won’t be much sleep tonight.”

“Is it sleep that you want?” Kallim enquired, drawing back to look up at him with those enormous eyes. Outside, the pipes played a wild flourish up the scale and down again, as the drums fell into a heavy, insistent rhythm. 

“No,” replied Gedrinel with conviction. “I don’t want to sleep. I want to see you dance.”

Kallim’s full mouth curved into a slow grin. “Have you not seen enough dancing for tonight?” he asked. “The girls were very pretty, to my eye.”

“Not one of them was a patch on you and you know it, not for beauty, nor as dancers,” Gedrinel said roughly. He tugged at the clasps on Kallim’s shirt. “Take it off!” he insisted, suddenly impatient.

Kallim was still sober enough to be nimble fingered. He had the shirt off within seconds, and flung it heedlessly into the corner. “And these?” he asked, indicating his loose linen trousers. His hips were already moving to the beat of the drums.

Gedrinel looked him up and down. “Not yet,” he said, “but there is something. Here.” 

The captain stepped forward and raised his hands to Kallim’s throat. The new gold chain rested snugly there, glittering against the southerner’s sun-darkened skin. With fingers that were not quite steady, Gedrinel slid the chain around until he had brought the fastenings to the front, then carefully unhooked them.

“Oh...” Kallim gazed at him with parted lips, the rapid rise and fall of his chest betraying his excitement.

Gedrinel’s own heart was thumping alarmingly against his ribs as he dragged his hands across the smooth brown skin. It took him a moment to link the hook through the ring on the right side, then he turned his attention to the left. The fact that Kallim appeared to be shivering did not make the tricky task any easier. The end result, however, was worth a little time and effort.

Gedrinel stood back and stared at his handiwork. The chain caught the lamplight as it hung in a deep curve between Kallim’s nipples, its weight sufficient to exert a slight but visible pull on each. As the captain watched, Kallim opened his eyes and evidently tried to slow his breathing, gazing back at him in eloquent silence. Gedrinel felt hard enough to burst, and from the look of him Kallim was no less aroused.

“Now dance for me,” Gedrinel said gruffly, edging towards the bed without taking his eyes from the vision before him. 

Kallim raised his arms above his head slowly, turning on the spot to hold Gedrinel’s gaze as the captain crossed the room and sat heavily on the edge of the mattress. 

At first Kallim moved only his hands, twisting them from the wrists with surprising delicacy and weaving fascinating patterns with his fingers. Then, as Gedrinel watched, open-mouthed, the movement seemed to ripple down his arms to his upper torso; he began to sway and circle from the waist. When the music drifting in from the courtyard reached an intense crescendo, Kallim responded with his whole body. 

It was hard to know where to look: at the play of light on gold as the chain slid and swung across Kallim’s glistening chest; at the snap of his hips as they marked the beat with exaggerated emphasis; at the fall of wild hair as he tilted and shook his head; or at the expression of utter abandon on his darkly handsome face. Gedrinel followed every movement with unblinking eyes, only vaguely aware of the near-painful constriction in his windpipe that was making it so difficult to breathe. Shifting on the bed, he spread his knees apart, and let his hand find its way to his other source of pain. He grasped and rubbed himself through the fabric of his trousers, beyond any notion of self control.

“Wait,” said Kallim softly, his eyes focussed on Gedrinel now, his lips moist. He danced slowly and sinuously towards the bed until he stood with his legs between Gedrinel’s thighs, brushing against them with each gyration.

“Gods!” muttered Gedrinel. 

However urgent his own needs, he simply had to touch. He rested his hands on Kallim’s hips for a moment, then ran them round to the rear, enjoying the swell of muscle beneath linen and skin as Kallim continued to move. One hand carried on kneading Kallim’s backside while the other returned to the front, sliding up the hot, damp skin that shimmered and swayed just inches from his face. He looked up to find the dark eyes upon him as he raised a finger to Kallim’s right nipple, then used it to trace the inner curve of the chain, pulling it gently out of shape as he went.

Kallim gasped, and gasped again, but he did not stop dancing. 

Gedrinel inched forward on the mattress, leaning his head slightly towards his lover. As his hand dropped back to Kallim’s hip, his lips met the smooth skin of Kallim’s abdomen and he tasted salt on his tongue. He sucked and licked in small circles until he encountered the links of warm metal, which he took carefully between his teeth. 

Kallim groaned and arched himself towards him. Gedrinel could feel the burning hardness of the southerner’s cock, brushing against his chest. He wrapped his arms around Kallim’s thighs and pulled him closer, pressing their bodies together. Kallim was thrusting now, rather than dancing; but still he moved to the rhythm of the drums.

Gedrinel breathed deeply, immersing himself in Kallim’s potent scent. There was the warm spiciness of his perfume, the earthier notes of sweat and sex, and an overtone of sweet smokiness from the water pipes they’d shared earlier. It was enough to make Gedrinel light-headed. He closed his eyes and tugged gently on the chain in his mouth as he rubbed his face against Kallim’s heated flesh. 

“Ai, zereniyya, you’re... ah...” Kallim sounded both desperate and ecstatic.

Gedrinel pushed against Kallim, forcing him to take a step back, then slid from the mattress onto his knees at the southerner’s feet. He could hear Kallim’s shaky breathing and feel the tremors in his legs as he ran both hands up to rest on his hips once more. The captain could never have imagined being weak with lust for the taste of another man; but now it seemed not just natural but necessary to dip his head and nuzzle at Kallim’s cock through the linen. He mouthed his way slowly up and down the length of it, until the fine grey fabric was dark with moisture. Turning his head to the side, he tested the fit of it between his lips, then brought his teeth into play, grazing and nipping until Kallim’s cries grew loud enough to obscure the music altogether.

Sitting back on his heels, Gedrinel peered up for a moment at his gasping, shuddering lover. The look of incredulous delight on Kallim’s face was almost enough to finish him. He licked his lips, lowered his eyes, and set about his business in earnest. 

Gedrinel’s clumsy fingers battled with loosely knotted ties until at last he could ease the linen over Kallim’s erection, letting it slide to the floor unheeded. His vision was filled with Kallim’s firm young flesh, dusky and upstanding, with rich black curls at its base and clear fluid welling from its full purple tip. It was a mesmerising sight.

He went through the motions again, this time touching his mouth to bare, salty skin. Pressing forward first with lips closed, then with lips open and teeth gently gripping and pulling, he teased up and down until Kallim moaned, grabbing handfuls of his hair and pushing urgently against him.

“Yadaani’,” the southerner begged, “Yadaani’, zereniyya...” and then, as Gedrinel’s mouth closed around him, “Deysh!”

It was a strangely pleasurable feeling, more enjoyable than Gedrinel could have expected. At first, he held Kallim’s cock lightly between his lips, lapping at the slippery skin of its tip and noting the half-familiar flavour. Kallim had become very still, clutching Gedrinel’s head with both hands as if trying to keep himself upright. But as Gedrinel gradually worked his way down the length, exploring the different textures, the ridges and softer patches, accepting as much as he could and then using a hand to encircle the rest, the southerner began to move again. He must have been holding himself back; rather than thrusting into Gedrinel’s untried mouth he seemed to be swaying from side to side, dancing once more. Gedrinel did his best to match the rhythm, sliding, sucking, licking and rubbing, only hoping that what he was doing was right.

His inexperience, it seemed, was no disadvantage. Just as he noticed the faint ache beginning in his jaw, his hand on Kallim’s backside felt the muscles clenching.

“Ai, Gedrinel,” Kallim groaned, “Wait, I am close... ai... deysh...”

Gedrinel heard the warning, but he did not heed it; and when the first spurt of warm fluid flooded his mouth, he felt nothing but satisfied pleasure, although the taste was somewhat bitter. Kallim cried out again and again, his fingers curling painfully in Gedrinel’s hair.

“Don’t swallow it all,” said Kallim urgently. Then he was on his knees before Gedrinel, forcing the captain back against the bed with his fierce embrace and kissing him, devouring his mouth as if desperate to taste himself there. When at last he drew away, slumping limply against Gedrinel’s chest, he let out a long groaning sigh that made Gedrinel’s cock perform a dance of its own.

“You’ve never done that before.” It was a statement, not a question.

“You know I haven’t,” Gedrinel said, too aroused and bemused to be offended.

“Then by the gods, you are a naturally talented man.” Kallim raised his head and stared at him, a strange intensity burning in his eyes. “Will you get up on the bed for me,” he continued, “and lie on your back?”

If Gedrinel had been capable of forming a coherent plan, it would most likely have involved rolling Kallim onto his back and fucking him through the floor, solid stone or no. It was clear from his face that the southerner was not intending to let him suffer for long, however, so he did as he was asked. 

Kallim had Gedrinel’s clothes off in seconds, and was kneeling beside him, looking him up and down like a glutton at a feast. When he reached for Gedrinel’s cock and stroked it lightly, the captain thought he might well explode. 

“I don’t know what you’re planning to do, but just do it,” he hissed, arching his hips up instinctively.

“Don’t worry.” Kallim gave a sly grin that made Gedrinel’s balls throb. “It’s your turn now.”

Gedrinel let out a long, loud breath, waiting for Kallim to lower his head and work the incredible magic with his mouth. Instead, the southerner leaned across the bed and fumbled on the night table for the well-used jar, and moments later Gedrinel was crying out at the touch of a cool, slick hand on his aching flesh. 

Kallim kept a hand on him as he crawled around and straddled Gedrinel’s thighs. Then, gazing at Gedrinel all the while, he reared up, shuffled forward, and brought himself down again, guiding the captain’s cock home in one slow, heart-stopping movement. 

“Fuck!” Gedrinel couldn’t contain the shout. 

Kallim made a great show of tilting his head, listening to the drums that were playing on into the night. He smiled broadly and began to move his hips yet again – circling them deliberately with a slight lift and fall, the muscles within clenching and relaxing around Gedrinel’s cock as he did so.

“Ah!” Gedrinel tried to say something, but it was hopeless. His brain had left his head and all that existed was the overwhelming sensation in his groin. He stared at Kallim in disbelief. 

Kallim laughed, then shook his shoulders a little, making the gold skitter across his skin as he leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair. “Enjoy it,” he said huskily. “After what you’ve just done for me, I think you deserve another dance.”

********************

 

Gedrinel sipped his coffee and studied Imrahil across the breakfast table. The prince had a healthy glow about him and an air of purposeful vigour, having clearly rested well and awoken in a positive frame of mind. He was tucking into a plate of honeyed fruits with uninhibited enthusiasm, pausing now and then to comment on their succulent sweetness. Legolas was reclining against the cushions at Imrahil’s side, working his way through a large bunch of grapes in an unhurried fashion, and watching his lover indulgently. 

No doubt his own pallor appeared even more sickly by contrast to the royal pair, Gedrinel mused. Had he and Kallim actually slept at all? It must have been nearly dawn by the time they had lain down to rest, and even then sleep had evaded him, feverishly overheated as he was. Every time he had twitched or turned on the bed, Kallim was there, whispering and stroking, coaxing him back to hard, helpless pleasure. In all his years he had never known a night like it.

Kallim, of course, had youth on his side. Perhaps he was not at his most radiant, but he looked fresh enough to avoid concerned enquiries from Imrahil and Legolas, and his conversation was as lively as ever. While the servants were in the room, piling the table with plates and pitchers, Kallim had kept up a stream of jokes and gossip gleaned from their companions at the businessman’s feast. Once they were alone, however, his manner became rather more serious.

“We were exceptionally lucky last night,” Kallim said, squeezing half a lemon over his dish of spiced beans. “The talk turned to the very man who interests us, and we learned a great deal without having to ask a single question.”

It was good of Kallim to include him in the statement by implication, but the truth was that Gedrinel had followed little of the conversation. Accents were strong, the talk rapid, and as the wine flowed the voices grew louder but ever less comprehensible. He had heard Bihal’s name, and had planned to ask Kallim for details once they returned to their room. Then they had fallen into a frantic embrace before even getting through the door; and as far as he was concerned, Bihal and Rekia had ceased to exist.

“I’d suspected he must have a primary accomplice in Umbar,” Kallim was saying. “Now I’m certain it’s the case. There was talk of his men being seen around the town once or twice a year. I doubt very much that they’re only involved in trading carpets.”

“What else?” inquired Imrahil, leaning forward and momentarily forgetting his food.

“It’s hard to say whether they’re simply dealing in rather less acceptable goods, or whether there’s something even more sinister behind all the secrecy. But one of the merchants we met last night has been to our man’s house to buy from him, and has no intention of returning. He says he felt deeply uncomfortable from the moment he set foot inside the door.”

“What did you learn of the accomplice?” asked Legolas. He deposited the skeletal remains of the bunch of grapes on his plate, and reached for the bread basket.

“A wealthy and ruthless man, with numbers of others in his pay.”

“And his name?”

“Nobody seemed to know it. I could make a few suggestions, but I will not speak of my suspicions here.” Kallim glanced towards the door as a serving man entered bearing a fresh pot of coffee. “I have an idea for this afternoon, however,” he continued brightly. 

“Tell us,” Legolas said, before turning his beatific smile on the servant and thanking him in Haradin. The man bowed and placed the pot at the elf’s side.

“I propose that we head out along the Hammeyet road to look at the tombs of the desert kings,” Kallim said. “They are ruined, of course, but still impressive; and it is a pleasant ride. We could take a different route back to the inn and see something of the town.” As the door closed behind the servant Kallim added softly, “including the house in question.”

“You have indeed learned a great deal,” said Imrahil with a slight frown. “Can you be sure that your interest went undetected?”

“I haven’t been speaking any Haradin,” Gedrinel said. His voice sounded unpleasantly harsh to his own ears. He took a long drink of water and cleared his throat before continuing, “There was no reason for them to believe that I could understand a word of their talk.”

“And I very much doubt that any of them realised I was paying attention,” Kallim added. “We were sitting at the other end of the table, near the musicians, where the conversation was rather less weighty. Besides, they all thought me no more than a foolish youth, drunk and infatuated.”

“Then they are the fools,” laughed Imrahil, as Gedrinel tried to shrink into the couch.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t drunk,” Kallim said sweetly. He helped himself to an overripe fig and grinned at Gedrinel as he brought it to his mouth.

********************

 

By mid afternoon Gedrinel’s exhaustion was starting to get the better of him. A brief foray up the slope to gaze at the ancient tombs had been more than enough to wear him out; leaving the others to explore further, he had soon scrambled down to the roadside to rest. Despite the fact that every part of his body was complaining loudly of its own discomfort, he was having difficulty keeping his eyes open. 

The captain sat back against a rock and adjusted the scarf across his face. It could do little to counter the sun's blistering heat. His clothes were sticky with sweat and full of sand, his mouth felt like an ash pit, and a party of enthusiastic dwarves seemed to have begun an excavation somewhere between his ears. 

"Shall we set off back to the town soon?" Imrahil's cheerful voice was enough to make him wince.

"I think that would be a good idea," Gedrinel said hoarsely. "As it is, you may have to tie me to my saddle."

"Perhaps one of us should ride with you," said Imrahil, laughing as he sank to his haunches beside Gedrinel. "Your grey seemed to manage well enough last time, from what little I can remember."

Gedrinel eyed the prince uncertainly, trying to enter into the spirit of his teasing, but failing miserably. "I know, I make a ridiculous sight," he muttered.

"Not ridiculous," Imrahil smiled encouragingly, "but perhaps a little pitiful. I can only hope you sleep better tonight."

Unable to think of a sensible reply, Gedrinel mumbled a vague agreement and reached for his water skin.

"If you want my advice, I suggest that you persuade Kallim to sleep on the balcony. That might help matters." Imrahil grinned at Gedrinel's start of astonishment and carried on, "Oh come now, there is no need for you to be coy. We have known each other a long time; there is no cause for secrets between us."

Gedrinel stared at him, opened his mouth, and shut it again. The dwarves had suddenly doubled their efforts.

"Of course," Imrahil was continuing airily, "You could sit there and pretend that your exhaustion is the result of the heat and too many insect bites. I shall not challenge you. But you would do well to remember that I share my bed with one who can hear a leaf fall at a mile distant, and who rarely succumbs to sleep."

Gedrinel was no fool; naturally he had known that Imrahil and Legolas were aware of the happenings in the next room, in general terms, at least. However, he would never have expected the prince to raise the matter in conversation, and in such a direct manner. It was a while before he could bring himself to speak. "So much for discretion," he managed at last.

Imrahil beamed at him. "I think we are far beyond that," he said softly.

As Gedrinel searched for something appropriate to say, Imrahil shifted to a sitting position and leaned back on the rock beside him. He placed a hand on the captain's sleeve. "In truth," he said, "I am glad of the opportunity to talk thus, and to tell you how much I am enjoying seeing you so happy. You are happy, are you not?" he asked, with a gentle squeeze of Gedrinel's arm.

"Yes," Gedrinel admitted. It sounded like a grudging reply, even to him. "If I did not feel so much like a waking corpse, I might be more positive," he added.

Imrahil laughed delightedly, a sound which lifted the captain's spirits a little. "Of course you would," the prince said.

"Well, I will admit I am deeply concerned about this unpleasant business we’re getting mixed up in, but in other respects..." Gedrinel floundered.

"In other respects, you are a very lucky man," Imrahil finished for him. "You have found yourself an exceptional companion, utterly priceless. I can only wonder how you did it."

"Oh, he found me, I can assure you," said Gedrinel dryly. Now that the first barrier had been breached, he was experiencing an odd desire to elaborate. "I had visited Zirri on numerous occasions without even realising he was there."

"So he sought you out?" Imrahil bent towards him eagerly.

"He did. To be honest, I had never imagined that I could..." Gedrinel gazed at his fingernails as he ran out of words.

"I understand," said Imrahil quietly, no longer laughing. "It was not something I had ever imagined, either. But I would not change my situation now, not for the world."

"No, of course not," murmured Gedrinel, unable to meet his prince's eye. Perhaps he was expected to echo the sentiment, to tell Imrahil that he was completely reconciled to the fact of his young, male lover, to the strange and giddy madness of their relationship. Perhaps it was even true. The fact of the matter was that he simply didn't know. For the past three weeks events had been rushing away with him and his brain had been struggling unsuccessfully to keep up.

He was spared the dilemma of what to say to Imrahil by the arrival of their companions. Kallim came bounding down the slope to land at Gedrinel's side, with Legolas following more gracefully after. Even the elf looked a little flushed by the afternoon sun, a fact which Gedrinel found faintly heartening.

"Are you feeling better?" asked Kallim, his hand on the captain's shoulder.

"A little," Gedrinel admitted, "but I’ll be better still once I'm lying down somewhere cool."

"Were we right to come here in spite of the heat?" 

"Absolutely," Imrahil answered. "The tombs are fascinating."

"If a little sinister," Gedrinel interjected. He glanced up at the great caves and columns, carved out of the cliffs and long abandoned. They seemed to him like huge petrified mouths, half decayed.

"Did you think so?" said Imrahil. "That is odd; they did not strike me that way. Atmospheric, certainly, but there was no sense of malice, not even at the burial site itself."

"Just a thousand ancient stories, almost forgotten," added Legolas. "It is a powerful place." 

"All those years of history that we in the north know nothing of," Imrahil sighed. "It is shameful, really."

"Yet marvellous," Legolas countered. "So much still to learn." He and Imrahil smiled at each other.

"If we come back here we must bring Heledir with us. He would weep for joy to see all this," said the prince.

"If you can tear him away from the Ithilien project," Gedrinel commented. He had met Heledir a few times at Imrahil's table and had liked him from the start. Even after a brief acquaintance, the change in the man over the past eighteen months was obvious, and its cause common knowledge, the subject of much palace gossip.

"Ah, Heledir is such a dedicated scholar. It is impossible not to admire his commitment," Legolas said smoothly. 

Imrahil laughed, and Kallim cast a questioning glance at Gedrinel. "I'll explain on the way back," the captain promised. 

Heledir's tale led on to a discussion of his enormous undertaking, the history of the interactions of elves and men that he was writing with Velenda of Ithilien. So the journey passed in pleasant conversation until the road emerged from the date groves and they saw the city walls before them.

"All I know is that it’s one of the first of the old houses just to the north of the gates, and painted red, or so we were told," Kallim said as they drew their horses to a halt abreast of each other. “We must not be seen to be looking; no doubt our man will have guards posted. "

Gedrinel had been feeling unwell since the start of the morning, but shortly after they entered the city matters took a major turn for the worse. The pounding in his head gave way to a thick, dizzy nausea, and he tasted bile in his throat. As they made their way in single file down the dark, narrow street, shaded by the high city walls on one side and the traditionally built, inward-looking houses on the other, he realised that he could no longer hold it down. He slid inelegantly from his saddle and bent double, retching helplessly into the filthy channel that ran down the length of the road.

Kallim was at his side almost at once, placing a reassuring hand on his back and murmuring words of concern. Gedrinel, mortified, tried to push him away, but Kallim was insistent. 

"I'm sorry," the captain gasped at last. Thirty years at sea and he'd only once been sick over the side, and that because as a foolish lad he'd been howling drunk on unwatered rum the night before; and now this? The last thing he wanted was the attention of his sympathetic companions. They should leave him in the gutter and let him crawl his own way back to the inn.

It took him a while to realise that what he was hearing was not merely sympathy, but anxiety.

"It's not your fault," Kallim was whispering to him, adding urgently, "We need to get away from here. Can you ride, or shall I lead your horse?"

As he raised his head, blinking sweat from his eyes and accepting the water skin from Kallim's hand, Gedrinel noticed the high red walls looming before him and the ashen pallor of Kallim's face. Peering beyond his lover, he saw that Imrahil looked little better. To his side Legolas sat motionless. The elf's skin had lost none of its usual pale glow, but his brows were drawn together in a frown. He gazed at Gedrinel for a moment, then brought his horse around so his back was turned to the red house.

"Will you ride with me, Gedrinel?" Legolas said in a strong, clear voice. "I think we must have inhaled harmful fumes of some kind, although I can detect no unusual odour. Perhaps we are near the tanneries, or some such place." His eyes made it obvious that the suggestion was not to be challenged. After a moment's confusion, Gedrinel understood. There was no sign of anybody watching them, but who could tell what was afoot behind the high, shuttered windows?

Gedrinel, weak and shivering, was happy to accept the elf's offer. His desire to crawl off by himself had evaporated, and he knew he had not the strength to sit a horse alone. Imrahil had by now dismounted, and as Legolas spoke to his steed, the animal dropped its head. Kallim and Imrahil lifted him, Legolas pulled from above, and somehow he was astride the great roan, clutching at its mane as the elf encircled his middle with arms that felt surprisingly strong.

"I have you, do not fear," Legolas murmured to him as the horse began to move at a smooth, unhurried walk. "It will soon pass."

The elf was right. As soon as they moved past the red house the chilly grip around Gedrinel's entrails seemed to ease, and by the time they had crossed the next street and turned a corner, he was breathing normally and his shoulders had relaxed. 

"I should get back on my own horse," he muttered, not without a moment of regret. There was something powerfully comforting about the elf's embrace. 

They paused in the deserted street for Gedrinel to complete the manoeuvre, then started up again at a rather brisker pace. By unspoken consent not a word was spoken of their unpleasant experience. Imrahil and Kallim, both restored to their usual vigour, kept up a cursory discussion of the sights around them, but Gedrinel rode silently, pondering the nature of his sudden sickness.

Even when they reached the inn, it was some time before they were able to speak openly. First, their horses had to be taken for stabling; Jered had to greet them and ask if they wished to eat; servants had to bring fresh water and glasses of tea to their rooms. At last they sat together, alone in the coolness of the chamber that Imrahil shared with Legolas. The elf took the precaution of checking that the corridor was empty before they came to the point.

"What was it?" asked Gedrinel, clutching his tea glass with both hands. The sweet lemon was wonderful, finally cleansing the vile taste from his throat.

"Bihal's house," said Kallim shortly.

"Yes, but -"

"At least now we know what we are dealing with," said Legolas.

"We do?" Imrahil gazed at him with an eyebrow raised. "I have never experienced anything like that."

"I have," said the elf. "And it comes as no great surprise. As Kallim had already deduced, the man we are investigating - or somebody in his household - is a practitioner of the dark arts."

"That was the result of magic?" Gedrinel asked stupidly. He was vaguely aware that he should feel relieved; he had not simply disgraced himself through his own weakness.

"A simple spell, I should say, for warding off unwelcome visitors. Either he knows we are interested in him, or he is involved in something big enough to justify giving all passers-by the same treatment," Legolas said.

"I am glad I'm not his neighbour," snorted Kallim. "Can you imagine it?"

"If he knows what he is doing, the effects could be selective," Legolas replied mildly.

"Forgive me for asking, but how do you know all this?" Gedrinel asked him suddenly.

The elf regarded him steadily. "I spent many lifetimes of men battling the servants of the Dark Lord on the borders of my father's realm," he said. "I am all too familiar with their tactics."

"Yet you appeared to be unaffected," Kallim put in. "Did you not feel the... influence... at all?"

"I felt the spell, but I did not let it affect me adversely. Our man is no great sorcerer, I would say. He is only working with a basic level of mental control," Legolas said.

"Easy enough to say, if you are one of the fair folk. The rest of us could not withstand his powers, basic or not." Imrahil sat back on the couch and frowned at his partner.

"No, you are wrong. A human could learn similar techniques. King Elessar has the skill, and a number of his Dúnedain, I believe. It is only a matter of practice."

"You could teach us this?" Kallim asked eagerly.

"I could, but it would take some time," said Legolas thoughtfully. "More time than we have at our disposal, I am afraid."

"Then that begs the question, what do we do next?" Imrahil mused. "If Bihal has the strength to keep us out of his fortress, how should we proceed? Must we draw him out?"

Nobody, it seemed, had an answer for the prince. In any case, their discussions were drawn to a close soon after by the appearance of a servant, informing them that their meal was about to be served in the adjoining balcony room, unless they wished to descend to the courtyard.

"No, we will eat up here tonight, I think," Imrahil said, glancing around to see the others nodding their agreement. Kallim translated the decision, and the four travellers moved through to the sitting area, cool and pleasant now that the sun had vanished and the evening breeze had begun.

They were subdued at first, each no doubt perusing the implications of their afternoon's discovery. Gedrinel found himself wondering if Imrahil could now be persuaded to abandon his crusade, to return to Umbar and allow Brenhir to pursue the problem. Sensible as such an approach might be, he had little hope that Imrahil would accept it. He did not fully understand why saving Rekia was a matter of huge significance to the prince, but he knew his monarch well enough to realise that giving up was not in his nature.

By the time the first bottle of wine was emptied, the mood around the table had cheered considerably. Bihal and his evil deeds had been temporarily put to one side, and the conversation ranged widely, from Kallim's stories of the desert kings, to Legolas's tales of second age adventures and Imrahil's myths of the coastal folk. Gedrinel contributed little, and although there had been no recurrence of the crippling nausea, his headache was troubling him once again. He could not ignore his bone-aching exhaustion for much longer.

Imrahil, on the other hand, seemed much revived by the meal. As the last plates were being cleared, he called for another bottle of wine and suggested that they once again retired into his chamber.

"We should make plans," he said with determination. "There must be some way forward."

Gedrinel emptied his glass and set it down on the table with finality. "I’m sorry," he said, "but I must ask you to make the plans without me. It’s not that I’m unwilling, but I’m weary to the point of collapse. If you will excuse me, I’m going to go to bed. To sleep," he added in an undertone, catching Kallim's eye.

Imrahil dismissed him graciously and Legolas bade him goodnight in the sweetest of tones. Kallim, however, was wearing a calculating look.

"I will stay and drink another cup of wine with our friends, since your Numenorean stamina seems to have deserted you," he said with an insolent grin.

Gedrinel frowned, then relaxed and shook his head. There was little point in becoming annoyed, when he knew that Kallim was only provoking him in the hopes of a forceful response. Even in his enfeebled state, Gedrinel could think of half a dozen ways of providing it that would satisfy them both; but whichever one he chose, it would have to wait until the morning.

********************

 

Yadaani’, zereniyya...: Please, my captain...

Deysh!: Yes!


	14. Chapter 14

"Do you surrender?" Imrahil asked, as he ran the feather gently across the elf's trembling flesh.

Legolas did not answer, but arched silently, hands clutching at the soft ropes binding his wrists to the solid wooden bedstead. 

Imrahil grinned. So, his lover was determined not to capitulate? It was a challenge he could not resist. Running his eyes over the tempting sight before him, he contemplated his next target. The thighs, perhaps, so mouth-wateringly smooth; or maybe the nipples, pertly attentive despite the softening heat. The elf's belly, fluttering slightly as he took deep, shuddering breaths, was a strong contender, as were the backs of his knees, always an area of relative weakness. In fact, every part of Legolas's body was crying out for Imrahil's attention, and he would see to it all in time. 

All of it, that was, except the place where the elf most craved his touch. That would have to wait until Legolas overcame his pride and admitted defeat.

Warming to the game, Imrahil decided on the element of surprise. He leaned suddenly across the bed and ran the feather up the inside of one of Legolas's arms, then down the other. The elf stifled a cry.

"I am sorry, I could not hear you clearly," Imrahil said pleasantly. "Do you surrender?" The feather danced across the soft skin of the inner wrists. 

"Never," replied Legolas. It was something between a laugh and a gasp.

"You may regret that attitude before the morning grows much older," Imrahil commented. 

"And what makes you think - ah!" It seemed that Legolas, his eyes covered by the twice-folded scarf, had not expected the soft bite to his inner thigh, nor the brush of Imrahil's nails across his tellingly tight sac. He wriggled under the tantalising strokes, and gave a moan that tailed off into a long, breathy sigh. Imrahil felt his own erection pulse at the sound, but did not allow himself to be distracted.

He spent some time playing the guessing game with his lover; choosing the site of his next attack carefully so as to catch Legolas by surprise. Sometimes he brushed with the feather, sometimes with his fingers. Hair, teeth and lips were all put to good use. Even his toes drew an astonished cry from his fair victim when they dragged lightly along an unwary ankle and shin.

Legolas was so deliciously sensitised by his helpless position, and by all the play that had gone before. His responses to the prince's campaign were endlessly satisfying; Imrahil knew that he could continue with the slow torment for the remainder of the day and not grow tired of it. However, even in the midst of his enjoyment, he was aware that they had other demands upon their time. 

Crawling down the bed, the prince lifted and parted the elf's knees and settled himself comfortably between them. He gazed for a while at Legolas's beautiful cock - stiff pale flesh leaking glistening fluid at the tip as it twitched hopefully against the elf's taut belly. Imagining the flavour of that delicacy on his tongue, he licked his lips; but it was not there that he placed his mouth. Instead, he rolled Legolas's hips upwards and back, slid a plump cushion beneath them, and nosed his way down to the secret, sensitive place half way between front and rear.

He moved his tongue lazily, flicking it back and forth five or six times, then pausing to lift his head and blow cool air across the damp skin. Legolas groaned in frustrated pleasure and attempted to push up to meet him, but Imrahil settled firm hands on his hip bones to hold him in place. 

After a few minutes of this, the prince felt that his lover might be in a more cooperative frame of mind. "Do you surrender?" he asked once more, leaning in and using one arm to hold the elf's legs up, whilst idly playing the fingers of his other hand back and forth over the delights thus exposed.

"Oh..." It was not entirely clear whether Legolas was admitting defeat or not, but Imrahil decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, for the time being at least. He bent down once more and worked his tongue a little more forcefully into the cleft between the elf's superbly rounded buttocks. Seeking complete access, he shifted again, this time sliding his hands up the back of Legolas's thighs, hooking thumb and fingers around the knees and pressing down with his forearms just enough to spread the elf's legs further. Then he dropped his head and concentrated on reducing his lover to a state of mindless desperation.

Of all the pleasures he had learned to share with Legolas, this was surely the most unexpected. If he had stopped to think of these matters in the days before the elf first came to his bed, he would perhaps have been vaguely aware that two men might pursue such activity. It would certainly never have occurred to him that the giver might derive as much satisfaction from it as the receiver.

Yet here he was, head bent eagerly to his task, his tongue busily exploring Legolas's most hidden aspect, lapping delicately around the opening and then, as the elf relaxed his self control a little further and groaned so beautifully, plunging within. Perhaps with another man this might not be such a strangely enjoyable pastime; but this was Legolas, sweet-smelling and always scrupulously clean, and Imrahil could not get enough of him.

He waited until the elf was becoming positively noisy, his incoherent words forming a continuous, sighing moan, then shifted his head upwards a little, replacing his tongue with two keenly questing fingers, and concentrating his mouth's efforts elsewhere. He licked firmly across Legolas's balls, took one in his mouth and sucked on it gently, moved on and repeated the process with the other, then stretched his lips wide to accommodate both at once. This seemed to meet with his lover's approval, if his frantic gasps were anything to judge by.

Imrahil had fully intended to make Legolas wait, to hear him speak the words of surrender before allowing him his release. But, as was so often the case, his own enthusiasm overcame him and the game was abandoned prior to completion. As the elf writhed on his fingers, Imrahil slid his head upwards once more, rubbing his partly opened mouth against the full, burning flesh and grazing it with his teeth.

He had planned to do so much more, but found himself pre-empted by his lover's response. Barely had he touched Legolas's long-neglected cock before the elf was crying out in a low, urgent voice, arching his back off the mattress and clamping his muscles around Imrahil's hand. The prince lifted his head in time to watch the creamy liquid spurting across Legolas's flawless chest, then dropped it again to lick and nuzzle at the last emerging drops.

"Please, untie me," Legolas said softly, some time later. 

Imrahil moved up the bed to comply with the elf's request. He knew quite well that the bonds could not have held his lover, had he not chosen to accept them. In this, as in so many respects, Legolas was nothing if not generous. 

He paused to kiss Legolas deeply, then removed the blindfold first. "Beautiful eyes," he murmured, leaning in to kiss those too. The ropes took a little longer, but Legolas waited patiently until the final loop was untangled. Then, suddenly, he pounced, and this time it was Imrahil who was taken by surprise. Somehow he found himself lying on his back, his wrists pinned by strong hands and his thighs effectively trapped, gazing up into the elf's face. There was something slightly fierce there, enough to make Imrahil shiver in anticipation.

"How shall I repay you, I wonder? You deserve some special treatment," Legolas said. His voice was almost a purr, but not that of any domestic feline.

Imrahil replied without delay, "However you wish. I shall not resist you."

"I am quite certain of that." The elf's lip curled dangerously. "Although it might be entertaining to watch you attempting to do so." 

Just as Legolas was leaning across Imrahil's chest to reach for the ropes, there was a knock at the door that separated their chamber from the sitting area. It was a loud and deliberate rap, and when neither man nor elf responded at once, it came again.

"I am sorry to disturb you," Gedrinel shouted through the heavy wood, "but I have news that will not keep."

A curse was shaping itself on Imrahil's lips, but before he could utter it, Legolas spoke. "We will be with you in five minutes," he called. His hand had slipped down between them, and was caressing Imrahil's cock in a distinctly forceful manner.

"Very well," Gedrinel said. Moments later they heard the door to his own chamber slamming shut.

"Five minutes?" enquired Imrahil breathlessly.

Legolas showed his teeth. "You will need three of them for bathing and dressing," he stated.

In allowing the prince two remaining minutes of pleasure Legolas had, if anything, overestimated. The elf knew his business far too well, and Imrahil was utterly helpless under his touch. It seemed that only seconds passed before he was yelling out a string of curses in at least two languages, and gushing hot fluid as if he had languished unloved for a year.

"Gods!" he muttered at last, as the stars behind his eyelids faded. "How do you do that?"

"My heart is in it," Legolas replied briskly. He bent to place a tender kiss on Imrahil's forehead, then leapt from the bed and strode across to the washstand. "I shall not forget what I owe you," he commented over his shoulder. "Consider it a debt to be repaid once this matter is behind us."

Imrahil grinned and silently blessed the Valar before rolling to the edge of the mattress and setting his feet on the cool, tiled floor.

Gedrinel had tactfully withdrawn into his chamber, no doubt aware that his interruption was particularly ill-timed. It would seem that he was hovering close to the door, however; when Imrahil knocked, he emerged almost at once, his brow furrowed with anxious excitement. At least he appeared to have had some sleep in the last twelve hours. Imrahil wondered fleetingly if his friend had listened to his advice, and had indeed banished Kallim from his bed. There was no sign of the southerner now.

"Kallim is still at the market," Gedrinel said, anticipating the question. "He's eager to make some purchases, and thinks that by doing so he will avert any suspicion about our motives. I had to come back to tell you what happened. I'm sorry for the intrusion."

"Do not be sorry," Imrahil reassured him quickly. "We have lingered too long abed, as it is." The prince sat down, and gestured for Gedrinel to do the same. Legolas had been peering over the railing into the courtyard, and now turned to join them.

"Your news?" the elf said, perching on a low stool opposite Imrahil and gazing intently at Gedrinel. 

Gedrinel looked from one to the other, scratching his beard absently. "It is strange," he said, "Far too strange to be a coincidence."

"So tell us," urged Imrahil impatiently.

"We went into the town early, to the barber's for a shave, and to listen to the men gossiping. We learned nothing except that nobody is treating us with caution. The people are friendly here, and several of them asked about our desert trip. We spoke of our visit to the tombs also, and received no unusual response, just a handful of suggestions for the rest of our stay. After we finished there, we went into the market, as Kallim wanted to find some of the ivory traders from the far south, and they start their days early. On our way down the main market street, a girl stopped us."

"A girl?" Imrahil sat forward in his chair.

"About sixteen or seventeen years old," confirmed Gedrinel. "We thought at first that she was trying to sell us something. She spoke quite good Westron, but was still making little sense. Eventually she took hold of Kallim's sleeve and dragged him into a small alley to talk to him. If she had been a boy, we would have dismissed her more swiftly, but as it was I think we were both intrigued."

"Who would not be? The women here are not usually so forthcoming," Legolas commented.

"Since you are telling us this story, I presume that she was not selling wares of a different kind?" Imrahil smiled.

"Oh no, that obviously wasn't the case, from the start. I've been at sea for long enough to have recognised a whore at once," said Gedrinel bluntly. "This girl had some small leather items for sale, made by her father, she said, but that wasn’t what she wanted to talk to us about. As soon as we were out of general sight, she asked us for our help. 'Begged' might be a better way of putting it. She was clearly very distressed, or excited. We might not have listened had she not said, "I know who your companions really are, and that is why I come to you. Only a hero could help her now.""

"Help her?" asked Imrahil sharply.

"Exactly. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end when she said it. Kallim must have sensed it too. "Help whom?" he asked. "My friend, a woman who is great danger," the girl replied. Kallim asked the friend's name, as casually as he could, but neither of us had any doubt of it."

"Rekia."

"Yes. You see now why I say that this is too strange. How can it be chance?"

"Most likely it is not," said Legolas softly. He too leaned forward in his seat. His blue eyes seemed to be blazing with intelligent fire.

"We gave nothing away," the captain continued, "but asked her to tell us more, to explain what she thought she knew of us and why we should be concerned with her friend's plight. For one who is seeking help from strangers, she was not very forthcoming. She said she was scared of being overheard, and that we should meet her later to learn the full story."

"Meet her where?" asked the prince, his heartbeat quickening.

"Down by the water, at the edge of one of the palm groves. She goes that way regularly to visit her father's mother, and we could take the same road as part of a pleasant ride to the lake."

"Conveniently placing ourselves in great danger," Imrahil observed.

"Indeed. It would be a perfect spot for an ambush," agreed Gedrinel. He and Imrahil stared at each other for a second.

"This girl - did you learn her name?"

"Zeneb."

"This Zeneb, then, could be exactly the source of information we have been hoping for. Or she could be intending to lead us into a deadly trap." Imrahil tapped his fingers against his knee as he thought aloud.

"How did you feel about her?" asked Legolas suddenly. "Did you sense that she is genuine?"

Gedrinel frowned, and spoke slowly. "If I had to make the judgement, I would say that she was telling the truth, and that her fear and anxiety were real. However, she could simply be an accomplished actress. If so, it was a masterstroke on the part of our man to send a girl, and one who so readily excites sympathy in her audience."

"Is she beautiful?" Imrahil enquired.

"No, not beautiful. Lively and intelligent, and courageous, certainly. But in fact, rather plain."

"Suppose she is genuine," said Legolas. "It may be that here is the accomplice we need if we are to find a way to rescue Rekia. And if she is not genuine -"

Imrahil picked up the thought. "What can they be planning to do? They can hardly expect to ambush and kill us. If either of us were harmed, Brenhir's men would be down here in their hundreds within days, and that would be the end of our man's secret enterprise, for sure. So if not a killing, what? Perhaps this is simply a test, to see how much we know and what our plans are."

"In which case, showing an interest in Zeneb's story might seem like the most natural response. Think about it - if you had no prior knowledge of the tale, would you not find her approach intriguing?"

"Undoubtedly so. I would be more than a little suspicious, none the less, and wondering what it was that she really wanted," Imrahil said, smiling at his lover's logic.

"Then perhaps we should arrange the meeting, but proceed with fair caution. If we pretend ignorance, we need give nothing away; and if we are prepared for the worst, I doubt that our man will surprise us." Legolas looked from Imrahil to Gedrinel, and waited for his comment. 

"The meeting is already arranged, if you choose to attend it," the captain said quickly. "We were careful to remain noncommittal, and told Zeneb merely that we would relay the message to you for your decision. We made no promises."

"Excellent. At what time will she expect us?" Imrahil could feel the tingle of excitement beginning on his skin.

"An hour after noon. It will be quiet then, as most of the peasant folk will be resting."

"So is Kallim intending to meet us back here?"

"Yes, he should return within an hour or two. He was hoping to gather some information on Zeneb in the meantime. He has bought a case of embroidered slippers from her, which gives him an opportunity to mention her name."

Imrahil laughed. "His resourcefulness is most impressive, as is his dedication to our cause."

"Oh, he has not made any sacrifices, I can assure you," replied Gedrinel. "The slippers are lovely work, and will sell like mithril nuggets back in Umbar. What's more, Zeneb asked a ridiculously low price for them, in an attempt to gain our attention and trust, no doubt."

"Well, I am happy to hear that Kallim has done well out of the encounter, whatever else may come of it. We shall meet Zeneb, and see what happens," said Imrahil decisively. "Shall we call for breakfast first? Have you eaten yet, Gedrinel?"

"Only a light pastry with my coffee. But I am not sure that I have the stomach for much else. All these unlikely coincidences are enough to put me off my food."

"I doubt that any of us believe it to be coincidence," said Legolas soothingly, "but that does not necessarily make it the enemy's doing. I am beginning to feel certain that there is a greater hand at work here, and that Rekia's deliverance has an importance that we have not yet grasped. Do not allow yourself to fall prey to anxiety. A good meal might do much to improve your outlook. Will you manage a little fruit, at least?"

Imrahil gazed fondly at his lover, whose calming tones seemed to be having a salutary effect on Gedrinel. The captain smiled crookedly at the elf, nodded, and suggested, "I'll see to ordering the food then, shall I? Is there anything you particularly want?"

"Indeed," asserted Imrahil happily. "Some of those delicious bread rounds with the cheese inside, a few eggs, and a plate of fresh dates, if there are any available. I find that I am powerfully hungry, all of a sudden." 

Unlike his friend, the prince was feeling strangely optimistic about this latest turn of events. If Zeneb did turn out to be a fraud, they would still learn something useful before the day was over. Legolas would surely detect her true motives even if the rest of them were taken in, and if Bihal was planning an ambush, he may well get more than he had bargained for. 

One way or another, they were making progress.

********************

 

The lake seemed unnaturally still, shimmering under the afternoon haze, and the palms stood motionless. The four companions and their horses seemed to be the only living creatures stirring, but for the invisible insects rasping ominously in the trees.

Imrahil looked curiously about him, then slid from his horse and wiped his brow with the end of his scarf. His eyes were stinging with sweat, and his nostrils felt as if they were burning from the inside. He had never experienced anything quite like this intense, crushing heat. It was small wonder that the locals took to their beds in the afternoon, only emerging once the sun fell below the treetops.

Of all of them, Gedrinel was suffering most. His face was scarlet, and he was sweating as freely as he had done in the steam bath. His discomfort was doing little to soothe his anxieties over their mission.

"Are you certain this is the place?" he was asking Kallim for the second time.

"Quite certain." Kallim's manner was utterly calm. He had returned to the inn full of confidence in Zeneb's integrity, and eager to hear her story. The market folk, he reported, had nothing but praise for the girl. Having no brothers, it was she who had stepped in to manage the family business when her father - a skilled and honest craftsman by all accounts - had suffered a dreadful accident two or three years ago. Under the circumstances she could be forgiven her rather unconventional behaviour and forward manners. 

Imrahil was quite prepared to be reassured by this new information, but Gedrinel remained cautious to the end. Legolas had kept his own counsel, quietly prepared for any eventuality.

They waited for a while without speaking, listening to the occasional snorting of their horses and the incessant insect noise. The prince wondered whether Zeneb was approaching them on horseback, or whether she was braving the terrible heat on foot. Perhaps she was not coming at all.

Legolas moved suddenly, drawing an arrow from his quiver and notching it silently in his bow. "Someone is near," he said softly.

Imrahil drew his sword, the whoosh of its slide through the scabbard seeming uncomfortably loud. Gedrinel and Kallim likewise unsheathed their blades, and stood at the ready, heads turned to follow the elf's gaze back into the palm grove. For a moment, it seemed as if nobody breathed.

Once he heard the approaching footsteps - one person, surely, and a small one at that - Imrahil felt his shoulders begin to relax. A few seconds later the girl came into sight and he let his sword drop, feeling somewhat shamefaced. She was short by southern standards, and her build was very slight. It was hard to see much of her, since she was swathed in a long blue robe and veil, but a pair of bright eyes were flitting from one to the other of them as she slowed at the end of the path.

She spoke first to Kallim, in rapid Haradin. Imrahil understood the word for thank you, but little else. As Kallim bowed his head and smiled in response, she pushed her veil back, revealing a thin, pointed face and thick black hair pulled back in a plait. Her features were small and somewhat nondescript, but her eyes were alive with intelligence. They darted around the clearing anxiously as the girl checked that the five of them were alone. Apparently satisfied, she faced Imrahil, and her air of agitation diminished a little.

"Lord," she said, dropping into a deep curtsey in front of Imrahil, before turning to Legolas and repeating the action. "I thank you."

Imrahil frowned and cast a glance at Kallim. 

"Go ahead," Kallim said easily. "Zeneb understands Westron perfectly well, so long as you speak slowly."

"Zeneb?" 

She looked at him eagerly. "Yes, Lord Imrahil?"

Imrahil raised an eyebrow. "My name is Endariel," he said. 

"As you wish it, Lord." She bowed.

"Why do you call me Imrahil?"

"You are him. That is why I come to you," she said simply, "and Lord Legolas."

"Nemerin," said the elf, smiling. "How do you know those other names?" He had lowered his bow and replaced his arrow in its quiver, and was regarding Zeneb closely.

"Everybody knows," said Zeneb, surprised. "We are hearing the stories of the council in Umbar, and then you are coming here..." She gave an expressive shrug.

"I told you it was likely that rumours of our visit would reach here before we did," Kallim put in.

"Then why has nobody said anything until now?" Imrahil said.

"By convention, your wish for informality must be respected," Kallim replied. "It doesn't mean that the town isn't enjoying talking about you behind your backs."

"Yet you told me nothing of this?"

"I didn't think it would improve the experience for you," Kallim said nonchalantly. "I'm sorry if it bothers you."

Imrahil glanced at Legolas and noted the faint curve of the elf's lips. There was no need to ask if he had been the only one so duped. He had chosen to believe that their ruse was successful; the others, it seemed, had been gracious enough to humour him. Pursuing the matter further would only make him appear more of a fool. Clearly, a change of subject was in order.

Turning to Zeneb, he said, "Tell us why you asked to meet us." 

"I need you for helping my friend, who is in much danger," she replied.

"Your friend?" Legolas prompted gently. 

Zeneb gazed at him with an expression of honest trust. "Rekia, the wife of Bihal," she said without hesitation.

Imrahil caught Legolas's eye briefly and exchanged a look of understanding with him. If the girl was acting, she was doing a thoroughly convincing job of it. It would be easy to accept her at face value, but the prince was not about to act or speak hastily. Better to leave the interview in the hands of his lover, the master of carefully measured words. With a slight nod of his head he indicated that Legolas should continue.

"It is clear that you have a story to tell us," the elf said. "Shall we sit under the trees, and make ourselves more comfortable?" 

Gedrinel extracted a blanket from his saddle pack and spread it under the shade of the palms. After a little persuasion from Legolas, Zeneb sat down upon it, and Imrahil and the elf joined her. Kallim and Gedrinel positioned themselves to either side, close enough to hear all the conversation, but watching the path in both directions. 

"Tell us about Rekia," Legolas said.

Zeneb came straight to the point. "Rekia is a good woman, but Bihal is wanting to kill her," she said. "I am much afraid for it."

"Why does he want to kill her?" the elf asked.

"He is a bad man, very bad. He always is hurting Rekia. But now he is wanting her dead."

"Why does she not leave him?"

"Leave him?" Zeneb echoed, her forehead furrowing. "She cannot leave. He is making her... how you say? Ha'ishaan -"

"A prisoner," Kallim said. 

"A prisoner," the girl repeated. "He has big magic for making her a prisoner. She always is inside the house, she cannot leave, she cannot ask help."

Legolas shifted forward on the blanket. "How do you know this, Zeneb, if she is a prisoner in the house and cannot speak to others?" His tone was kindly, but there was an unmistakeable power behind it.

Zeneb nodded, unflustered by the elf's question and manner. "The sister of my father, she is living in the next house. Each week I go there, since I am a small child. When my mother died, I had only five years. Rekia and Jened were very good with me. They were my friends."

"Jened?" Imrahil asked.

"The brother of Bihal and the husband of Rekia. The real husband of Rekia. He was not like Bihal. He was a good man. When he died, Bihal married Rekia. She was not wanting him, but it is... khenemiyyeh?"

"Our custom," said Kallim. He spoke a few words to Zeneb, and she responded with great animation, her hands moving rapidly to illustrate her speech.

"She says that Rekia's unhappiness nearly broke her heart, and she thought that Rekia might actually die. Other than her mother's death, the day of the second marriage was the worst day of Zeneb's life," Kallim translated.

Another volley of Haradin conversation followed, subsequently relayed by Kallim.

"She goes up onto the roof whenever she visits her aunt, and sometimes she sees Rekia on the roof of Bihal's house. Bihal is a very fat man, and he never climbs up there. If Rekia is unwatched by the servants they can talk a little, but it does not last for long. It is enough to see that Rekia has wounds and scars, and that she is in despair. Things have got worse in the last two weeks, and although Rekia has not said it directly, Zeneb is sure that she is expecting to die. She has been saying farewell."

The last two weeks? thought Imrahil. Could it be another unlikely chance that Bihal's mistreatment of his wife should have escalated at precisely the time of their visit to S'fayyah? "Why now?" he asked.

"I do not know," replied Zeneb, turning her frank gaze upon him. "Perhaps he is tiring of hurting her."

Once again Imrahil caught Legolas's eye. Either they were thinking in unison, or the elf was reading his mind. Evidently this coincidence was too much for either of them to leave unquestioned.

"Zeneb, before we discuss this further, there is something I must ask of you," Legolas said. "We wish to trust you, but there is evil at work in this town and we must be careful."

"What do you ask, Lord?" Zeneb leaned towards him, her thin face taut with concentration.

"Will you let me into your thoughts? It will not harm you, and it will only last a moment."

"With much happiness," said Zeneb after the slightest of pauses. Perhaps she simply needed the time to understand the translated words.

Legolas reached for her small brown hand and covered it with his own. Imrahil watched in silence, dimly aware that both Kallim and Gedrinel had turned to do the same. There was a long, tense moment as Zeneb and Legolas sat very still and stared intently into each other's eyes, while the creaking insects in the trees seemed to become almost unbearably loud. Then the elf's impassive expression transformed itself subtly into a look of deep compassion, and Imrahil, his glance straying briefly from his lover, saw the glitter of moisture on Zeneb's dark lashes.

"You are a truly loyal friend, to take such pain upon yourself," Legolas said softly. "And the bravest of women, in seeking to aid Rekia when none other would do so for fear of Bihal's magic. It will be an honour to help you." He held onto the girl's hand, and appeared to be squeezing it gently. "Let your mind be at peace," he continued. "I cannot promise that we shall succeed, but I do believe that the fates are with us in this venture."

Kallim, his own face alight with happiness, spoke quickly to Zeneb. Listening to him, Imrahil sensed that the southerner had been deeply affected by Zeneb's tale, and must have been praying for this very outcome. If that was indeed the case, he had shown admirable self restraint in their discussions.

Zeneb's tears had spilled onto her cheeks, but she was smiling, almost laughing as she thanked Legolas. Her features seemed softer, somehow, as her face relaxed in relief. Imrahil felt a swell of affection for her, this courageous girl who had been bearing a burden of grief and fear for so long, and presumably with nobody to share it.

"I knew you would helping me," she sniffled, her accent deteriorating in the slew of emotion. "You are two good heroes, like the songs are saying. The gods are sending you here, I know it."

Kallim had produced a kerchief from somewhere, and squatted down beside Zeneb, offering the large cotton square to her. They conversed in rapid Haradin for a while as she wiped her cheeks and eyes, her shuddering shoulders gradually coming to rest. Then Kallim looked up, grinning, and addressed Legolas. "Zeneb says she knew you would have stronger magic than Bihal, my friend, for how else could you have brought down the four mûmakil single-handed?"

"One day I shall discover who is responsible for that story," said the elf, shaking his head. "Perhaps for now it is sufficient to assure Zeneb that it is not a matter of magic, but simply of many years of practice."

Gedrinel brought them back to the serious matter at hand. "I'm glad we've made the decision, but what do we do next?" he said. "If the whole town is aware of your true identity, would it not be best to approach to the elders and demand that they aid us in an investigation of Bihal's doings?"

"I think not," Imrahil said quickly, before Zeneb could protest. "No doubt he has a good number of the townspeople terrified, and reaching an agreement would take time. There would be discussion and dissension, and at some point news of our plans would inevitably reach Bihal himself. I have a strong conviction that Rekia would not live to see us approach her door. Once she is safe, we can have the man dealt with."

"Bihal must have supporters in the town, even if they are only bound to him by fear. I believe you are right to insist that we proceed with stealth," agreed Legolas. "Zeneb, do you know how many men Bihal has in his house, how many guards?"

"I think four guards, and some servants. But the servants are not stopping you getting in. They are unhappy like Rekia."

"Four we could manage," Gedrinel mused. "But how do we get in? The house is like a fortress. Very difficult to enter," he added for Zeneb's sake, as she frowned in confusion.

"Ah, I know," she said as understanding dawned. "There is a way, if the magic is gone first. The house of my aunt is a little close and the roof is higher so much." She indicated three or so feet from the ground. "I think you can jump, if the magic is not stopping you."

There was silence for a moment as the four travellers looked at one another. It was Kallim who spoke first. "Well, my friend," he said to Legolas, "Perhaps it is time for you to show your hand."

"Indeed," the elf replied. "It seems to me that Bihal relies on his magic, such as it is, to protect him in his home. He must imagine his neighbours to be thoroughly subdued, and if he is anticipating an approach, most likely he will expect it to be from the street. Four men, taken by surprise, should present little problem."

"But you will not be alone," Imrahil burst out, his heart sinking as the elf's steady gaze met his, and the implications of his lover's tone struck him. "We will be with you."

"That is hardly a logical plan. Bihal's deterrent spell is not complex, but it is sufficient to deny you entry to his house. I would have to reach him before I could persuade him to lift the magic, and by that time the deed would be as good as done. Why take unnecessary risks?" Legolas spoke evenly, and his placid face concealed his thoughts, but Imrahil could feel the weight of his determination.

"But that is ridiculous! If you think that I will sit idly by while you put yourself in danger, you do not know me at all!" the prince said angrily. "You cannot be seriously considering..." 

Imrahil's voice tailed off as Legolas lowered his eyebrows in a meaningful manner. The prince cast a fleeting glance at Zeneb and saw that her face was once more full of beseeching anxiety as she struggled to understand their disagreement. He took a deep breath and recited the first line of the hymn to Elbereth in his head, as he had taught Merenin and Celaeren to do as children, when their feelings ran away with them. 

"We can discuss that aspect of the plan later," he said more calmly, but with a sharp look at Legolas. "There are many other questions that we must ask you now, Zeneb."

With Kallim translating when necessary, they agreed that the rescuer, or rescuers, would need to make their attempt in the early morning, at least three hours after midnight. According to Zeneb, Bihal was in the habit of staying up into the night, as the light filtering through his shuttered windows and the faint sounds of voices could attest. The girl's family would present no problem; honest and hard-working folk that they were, they slept early and soundly. Zeneb would be waiting at the street door for the arrival of her accomplices. 

Several years had passed since Zeneb had been inside the house, in the happier days of Rekia's marriage to Jened. She could remember enough, however, to give a basic description of its internal layout. At this point in the discussion Legolas became quite insistent, pressing her for any and every detail. As the elf said, the element of surprise was the deadliest weapon in their armoury, and in order to maintain it, he would have to move swiftly and confidently.

Then, of course, there was the question of exactly what would be done once Legolas was inside the house.

"You will kill Bihal?" Zeneb asked directly, her eyes huge.

"Not unless it is absolutely necessary," Legolas said gently. "He may be a very bad man, but I would rather see him brought to justice than have his blood on my hands."

"So what will you do? I do not think Bihal is wanting Rekia to go."

"I may have to subdue him," Legolas said. "Make him sleep," he added, as Zeneb peered at him questioningly.

"And once you are out of the house with her, we will move fast," said Imrahil. "Rekia will not be safe in S'fayyah. We must take her back to Umbar with us and let Brenhir's men handle the problem here. Presumably Rekia will know what his game is."

"Ideally it should look as if Rekia has escaped unaided," said Kallim thoughtfully. "We do not want to be pursued by Bihal or his accomplices, nor to find them harassing us once we're back in the city."

"I have a suggestion," Gedrinel said. "Suppose we choose our day and leave in the morning by the Khimmet road, with half of S'fayyah out on the streets to see us leave, no doubt. We go far enough to be out of sight of any keen-eyed watchers on the walls, and wait until nightfall. Then, under cover of darkness, Legolas - perhaps accompanied by one or more of the rest of us - rides across the sands, and approaches the town along the Hammeyet road. He slips in through the gate and Zeneb lets him into her aunt's house; so he enters Bihal's fortress. Then he either spirits Rekia away unnoticed, or, in the worst case, confronts Bihal and subdues him in order to make their escape. But - and this is the important part - as he leaves, he creates a diversion, and at the same time covers his tracks so as to give the impression that Rekia planned and effected her own getaway."

"And how might he do that?" Imrahil stared at his friend. Although he had advocated caution from the start, now that their involvement in Rekia's plight was beyond question, Gedrinel was both resourceful and determined, and he spoke with great authority. The successful sea captain was very much in evidence. 

Gedrinel turned to Zeneb and asked her a quick and earnest question. 

"Deysh," she said, nodding emphatically. 

"Bihal trades carpets," Gedrinel said, "and according to Zeneb, his house is said to be full of them. In weather such as this, how well do you think carpets might burn?"

********************

 

Dusk was drifting towards dark as Imrahil and Legolas walked a little way from the others in order to say their farewells. The sun's departure had brought relief from the punishing heat of the day, but had done nothing to ease the turmoil in Imrahil's mind. However deeply he breathed, however many times he told himself that their plan was only logical, he could not shake off the sense of foreboding and the nauseous disquiet in the pit of his stomach.

They had left S'fayyah, amidst a flurry of excited attention and good wishes, well before noon. Once the city walls were out of sight, and at a moment when Legolas could see no other travellers approaching from either direction, they had veered off the road and headed almost due south. They had ridden across the parched, uneven ground until they reached a convenient dip in the landscape, with the protection of clumps of kaadin trees on three sides. There they had passed a tense and uncomfortable afternoon. Although they had taken turns at watching and resting, sleep had evaded Imrahil; he had spent the hottest part of the day fidgeting and scratching, listening to poisonous thoughts chasing each other around his head while Legolas lay peacefully at his side.

Even a leisurely back rub from his lover's talented hands had done little to improve the prince's state of mind. In contrast to his own agitation, the elf's calm was quite infuriating. 

"I am not happy about this," Imrahil said for the tenth time, as he pulled back from Legolas's embrace. "I should be going with you."

"No, you should not," said Legolas with quiet certainty, as he raised a hand to touch Imrahil's hair. "You know that this is the only way that makes sense."

"We should all be going. If there is trouble -"

"There will not be trouble, my love. We cannot all go if we expect to make a hasty return to Khimmet; we must keep at least two of the horses fresh enough to carry our baggage. And the more of us who ride back to the town, the more likely we are to be noticed. I have the Lorién cloak to shield me from sight, and Kallim - well, in my opinion he makes a most convincing woman, once swaddled in all that blue cloth. Even if he is seen, I am sure he will charm his way out of difficulty."

The elf's attempt at levity did nothing to lift Imrahil's spirits. They had been through this discussion a number of times. Although he knew that everything Legolas said was true, Imrahil felt no better about his lover’s imminent departure. He glanced across to the other side of the dip, where the murky shapes of their companions could still be made out in the last of the light. "If there is a fight, you will be wishing for another pair of swords guarding your back. I know Gedrinel is not happy about the arrangement, either."

"He is concerned for his lover, just as you are. I understand that perfectly well." Legolas stepped closer and pulled Imrahil into his arms once more. He pressed his cheek lightly against Imrahil's before continuing, "Let your mind be at ease. You know that I have faced far worse threats than one novice sorcerer and a handful of unwary guards. I shall return to you, and I shall bring Rekia with me."

"It is not that I lack faith in you," Imrahil mumbled into his lover's hair, suddenly aware of a stinging in his eyes. "It is simply that I cannot bear the thought of..." The words 'losing you' refused to take shape on his lips, although he heard them loudly enough in his mind.

"I know." Legolas drew back just far enough to bring their mouths close together. "I know only too well, believe me. At least this way you will be safe. In close proximity to Bihal, you would be anything but."

"I stood before Sauron's stronghold and did not quail," said Imrahil sharply.

"Of course; I do not question your courage. When we marched upon the black gates we knew we had little hope, but simply being there was enough. This is a very different situation, my love. I am only trying to be practical."

Imrahil sighed, and allowed himself to relax a little into the elf's arms. They kissed for a while, with as much tenderness as heat, clutching each other tightly. 

When they moved apart, Legolas looked up at the indigo sky. The waxing moon hung low over the trees, and the stars were showing themselves.

"It is time for us to leave," the elf said softly.

"Just remember that I love you," Imrahil said, a sense of anxious resignation seeping through him.

"How could I forget it? Your love is one of the great joys of my life. Do not fear for me."

They walked slowly back to the hollow where they had left their packs. Gedrinel and Kallim were already there, talking softly as Kallim pulled the voluminous blue robe over his clothes. 

"I wish there was more light, so I could see this properly," said Gedrinel dryly, adjusting Kallim's headdress and pinning it into place. "I think it rather becomes you." The captain's voice was steady. If he was as nervous as Imrahil, he was hiding it well.

"It’s enough that it disguises me," replied Kallim, holding a veil up to his face. "Legolas, you will have to help me with this when we get close to the town. I don't think I can ride fast in it."

Legolas, crouching beside his pack, had retrieved the grey elven cloak and a soft scarf. He was already dressed in local garb, dark trousers and tunic over soft boots. The long cotton strip was soon wrapped around his head, concealing his hair and much of his face. Once he had flung the cloak across his shoulders and pulled the hood forward, he seemed to fade into the darkness quite uncannily. 

"Try not to walk like an elf, if you meet anyone," said Imrahil.

"I will do my best," Legolas laughed, then turned to Kallim. "Shall we start?"

"I'm ready," Kallim said heartily. "I may look like a harmless maiden, but I am armed and dangerous. Let's go and tackle the villain."

Imrahil smiled in spite of himself. "Be careful," he said.

"Of course." Kallim gazed at him for a moment, then suddenly moved forward and brought his lips to Imrahil's cheek, and his hand to the prince's waist. "Don't worry," he whispered as he pulled away.

Imrahil, somewhat taken aback, watched speechlessly as Kallim turned to Gedrinel. 

"Keep a careful watch, zereniyya," the southerner said. The robe hitched up as he flung both arms around Gedrinel's neck and kissed him on the mouth. After a moment, Gedrinel's hands were splayed across Kallim's back, and he was returning the kiss wholeheartedly.

"We should be back shortly before dawn," Legolas said. "Have the horses ready."

"Go safely in the Lady's sight," murmured Imrahil, embracing his lover once again.

The two men stood in silence until the horses had disappeared over the nearest rise, hooves making little sound on the loose sand. Imrahil felt a chill settling around his heart. He took a deep breath of the clammy night air and gazed up at the sky, searching for some comfort amongst the emerging stars. Blessed Eru, he prayed silently, keep Legolas and Kallim from harm; and let the dawn come soon.

********************

 

deysh: yes

zereniyya: my captain


	15. Chapter 15

Gedrinel had known some long, difficult nights in his time.

There had been one occasion, shortly after he had taken command of the Lynx, when the ship had been adrift in an unnatural calm miles off the far northern shores. For twelve desperate hours they had rowed against all hope, as the waters coalesced in great frozen chunks around them. Then there had been nights spent weathering ferocious storms, lashed to the rigging as he bawled out orders into the deafening gales, and mourning with the rest of the crew for the shipmates swept overboard into the howling darkness. Many times over the years he’d fought with bitter tenacity against privateers off the southern coasts, giving chase through endless hours when the only light to be seen was the flicker of the lamps aboard the corsairs’ stealthy craft. The captain had faced hardship and loss, and had borne them both with courage; but this helpless waiting presented a trial for which he was ill prepared. As the night grew damp and chilly, the interminable hours dragged on, leaching his spirit away. 

Imrahil, ever the man of action, was faring little better. His anxious fidgeting only added to Gedrinel’s disquiet.

Some time after they had finished grooming the horses, Gedrinel attempted to offer reassurance. “You said it yourself,” he ventured, “It would be too much of a risk for Bihal to take action against any one of us.”

“An unprovoked attack in broad daylight is one thing; defence of one’s self and property against an unknown intruder in the night, another,” muttered Imrahil in a bleak tone. “There is no telling what the man might do. We should have gone with them.”

As much as Gedrinel was inclined to agree, he knew that reason was called for. “This was the best way,” he said with little real conviction. “They will come to no harm.”

Imrahil made no reply beyond a noncommittal grunt.

A while later, as they squatted by the remains of a tiny fire drinking bitter coffee brewed with a meagre ration of water, the conversation turned to Kallim. 

“Will you take him with you, when we sail from Umbar?” Imrahil asked.

Gedrinel upended his cup and shook the thick grounds out onto the sand.

“Has he asked you yet?” Imrahil continued. His voice, although quiet, demanded an answer.

“He has asked,” said Gedrinel reluctantly. “I wasn’t entirely sure that he was serious.”

“Not serious? I could wonder the same of you.” It sounded as if Imrahil might be smiling, but it was too dark to tell. “So, will you take him with you?”

“How could I, even if it was my wish to do so? I command a working ship, not a fancy pleasure barge. The men would lose all respect for me.”

“I am not so sure of that. May I remind you of the words you spoke to me? Your men think the world of you, and will be glad to see you happy.” Imrahil shifted on the damp ground. “Of course,” he added, “you would have to find something for Kallim to do, but that should not be too difficult.” Now the amusement was obvious in his voice.

Gedrinel snorted. “Such as what? Kallim has never set foot on a ship. He knows nothing whatsoever of the sea.” 

“Ah, but there is little he does not know about commerce,” the prince said thoughtfully. “Take him on in some money-making capacity and he will soon find his place. As soon as they see their share of the profits on the increase, the men will come to love him well enough.”

“There are some who might love him a little too well,” said Gedrinel, trying not to picture Dirgan’s likely response to the flamboyant southerner.

“Hah! I can understand that concern, but I do not think it should govern your decision. The crew’s loyalty will win out, I am certain of it.”

Gedrinel scratched at his thigh as he contemplated Imrahil’s words. Perhaps the prince was right, and Kallim could become part of his shipboard life - if indeed that was what Gedrinel truly wanted. He was painfully aware that the prospect raised a host of questions that he would rather avoid. Of course, if things did not go well on this night, the whole discussion could turn out to be irrelevant. He swallowed around the dry acidity in his mouth and stared up into the gloomy heavens, trying to convince himself that the dawn would not be long in coming.

Their half-hearted conversation turned to other, less vexing matters, but soon petered out into silence. As the night progressed, they positioned themselves at the top of the ridge, a mere hundred yards from their horses but well placed for any sign of approach. 

At last the greyish light began to push its way over the horizon. Gedrinel noticed the change in the sky as he stood, clutching his sword in clammy hands and rocking from foot to foot in an effort to keep himself alert. He glanced across at Imrahil, striding back and forth some yards away. 

“They should be here by now,” Imrahil said suddenly. “Daybreak is almost upon us. How much longer should we leave it?”

“Another hour or two, at least,” Gedrinel replied, aware of a sickly churning in his belly. “They may have had to wait longer than expected before Legolas could make his entrance.”

In fact barely another half hour passed before the sun’s first rays picked out two dark shapes far to the southeast.

“Praise the gods,” said Imrahil fervently, as the faint blobs resolved themselves into travellers on horseback, approaching fast.

“Yes.” Gedrinel’s heart was thumping.

Kallim reached them first. He had abandoned his disguise and rode the last stretch wildly, his hair flying behind him. Calling a greeting, he slid from the saddle and ran up the slope towards Gedrinel. “All is well,” he said, in a strangely serious tone.

“Rekia is with you?” asked Imrahil.

“Yes, Legolas is riding gently for her sake. She is not strong.” 

Imrahil nodded, then hurried down the incline to meet his lover.

Gedrinel clutched at Kallim, surrendering willingly to the wave of thankfulness sweeping through him. They kissed for a while, then Gedrinel buried his face in the heavy mass of Kallim’s hair.

“You reek of smoke,” he said at last.

“That’s hardly surprising. Bihal’s house went up most impressively,” Kallim replied. “Luckily there was time for Rekia to warn the servants, and Zeneb was raising the alarm in the street as we left.”

“She didn’t..?”

“No, I told you she wouldn’t leave her father. I tried to persuade her, but she was determined. ‘Nobody is suspecting me,’ she kept saying. ‘They thinking I can do nothing because I am a girl.’”

“Well, they’re sadly wrong, if that’s the case,” Gedrinel said. “But do you think she’ll be alright?”

“I should imagine so. She has spirit, and she’ll know how to keep her mouth shut.”

“What about Bihal?”

“Dead.” 

Gedrinel whirled around in surprise as Legolas spoke. 

The elf continued, “I had no other option.” There was an iciness in his tone that sent a shiver down the captain’s back.

Legolas and Imrahil were nearly at the top of the slope. Imrahil was leading the horses, and Legolas was supporting a tall, thin figure wrapped in a long cloak, presumably Kallim’s. The garment covered a great deal, but it was clear that the woman was frail, and walking as if she had sustained grave injury. Gedrinel peered at her as she came closer and forced himself not to exclaim aloud. Her face, just visible under the swathe of fabric, was a mass of scars. 

Gedrinel thought he might understand the suppressed anger in the elf’s voice. He bowed his head. “Rekia mediyella,” he said softly, “Ya’ren na daziyyed ten aliyaan.”

“Thank you.” She spoke slowly, with a weight of weary sadness behind the simple words that Gedrinel felt he could almost touch.

Kallim detached himself from Gedrinel’s side, murmuring something about food and rest as he extended an arm to Rekia. She took it willingly, and they set off down the western slope at a careful pace, leaving Gedrinel and Imrahil to turn to Legolas.

“What happened?” the prince asked. “Obviously you did not manage to spirit Rekia away unnoticed.”

“I might have done so, but I had not counted on Bihal having her chained to the stonework in his chamber, naked, like an animal.” There it was again, that barely controlled fury. “It was right that he should die.”

Gedrinel searched for something appropriate to say, but Imrahil stepped in first. “What of his guards?” he said quietly.

“To them I gave a choice. Die for their master, or escape with their lives and never speak of this night again. Two of them chose to run; three did not.”

“I am sorry,” Imrahil almost whispered.

“Do not be sorry. It needed to be done. The tragedy is that it was not done sooner; Rekia could have been spared so much. And there is another thing.”

“Another...?”

“We were right to assume that Bihal had accomplices in Umbar. They are not simply dabbling in foul magic. They are plotting against the King. I believe the fates led us to this point not only to rescue Rekia, but to uncover the treachery before it extends any further. There is much to be done back in the city.”

“Gods! How do you know this?”

“From Bihal himself. At first he tried to taunt me with the idea of an assassination, but some of the information he gave me less... willingly.” There was a strain to Legolas’s voice that Gedrinel had not heard before. What had he been through?

Imrahil responded anxiously, reaching to touch the elf’s arm. “Are you well, my love? Can you speak of what happened?”

“I have said enough,” Legolas replied. “When Rekia is feeling stronger, I think she will be able to tell us much of the men involved in this plot, but I am loathe to question her until she has had a chance to recuperate from the immediate effects of her ordeal. I fear it will be a long time before she truly recovers, if indeed she ever does.”

“Once we get back to Umbar, Zirri will help her. She has great skill with healing herbs, and a generous temperament,” said Gedrinel.

Legolas nodded. “I will do what I can in the meantime,” he said, “but I am afraid we have to hurry back to the city, regardless. News of Bihal’s demise is bound to be winging its way there.”

“You are right,” Imrahil agreed, although his voice betrayed his unease. It was hardly surprising; Legolas spoke calmly, but Gedrinel could almost feel the tension in the air around him. He resolved to take Kallim to one side at the earliest possible opportunity and find out exactly what had happened to make the elf so overwrought.

The chance for a private talk did not arise until they were on the road, following the brisk pace set by Legolas, who rode with the sleeping Rekia cradled safely in his arms. The sun was already climbing high in the sky. Although they had not lingered unnecessarily in their makeshift camp, a short rest and some food and water had been essential. Then they had spent at least an hour picking their way over the rough ground so as to rejoin the road at a fair distance from S’fayyah.

Gedrinel and Kallim held back deliberately, putting enough of a gap between themselves and the others to ensure that even the elf’s sensitive ears would not catch their conversation. 

“What happened to Legolas?” Gedrinel asked urgently, once they were out of earshot. “He’s in a terrible state. I didn’t know an elf could be so upset.”

“I wish I could answer you, but I don’t know any more than you do,” Kallim replied in an undertone. “He was fine when he went in, and full of that cold anger when he came out. He didn’t say much except the obvious things, and didn’t tell me anything specific about what had taken place in the house. I suspect matters were far worse in there than he is telling us.”

“It’s not just the anger. I could understand that; seeing at first hand what that bastard had done to Rekia would have made any of us just as furious, I should think. What worries me is the atmosphere around him – as if something is about to break. It’s frightening. What is he holding in, and what will happen if he can’t hold it any longer?”

“I really don’t know. Perhaps if we leave them to it, Imrahil will get the truth out of him. Legolas probably needs to talk about it.”

“Maybe elves have other ways of dealing with such things,” Gedrinel said doubtfully.

Kallim shook his head. “Maybe, but I hope not. There are plenty of men who believe in keeping their misery to themselves; it doesn’t make them happy individuals.”

“Elves are quite different from us, you know that.”

“Yet similar enough for Legolas to have been horribly upset by whatever he has been through. If he’s only showing a fraction of his feelings, as Imrahil puts it, he must be a mess inside.”

By the time the travellers left the road, seeking shelter from the relentless noonday sun while they ate and drank, Legolas had hidden his fury. Only Imrahil’s air of restless anxiety betrayed the fact that all was not well. 

Gedrinel studied Legolas curiously as they rested. His face was a mask of tight control, giving nothing away except a concern for Rekia that seemed to verge on possessiveness. Rekia herself was in a strange state, rousing for moments to accept the elf’s offerings of fruit and water, then drifting off again into a blank-eyed trance somewhere between sleep and consciousness. The others spoke in hushed tones around her as she leaned against Legolas. 

“She has chosen to retreat for the time being,” said the elf, in response to Gedrinel’s hesitant query. “Yes, I am helping her to do so; I can offer no other cure for her pain. She will wake when she is ready.”

After a mere hour’s rest they rode on through a long afternoon of dry heat and dusty winds. It was an uncomfortable journey in every sense, and enough to remind Gedrinel that he could never grow to love the desert, for all its majesty. At least fortune was with the travellers in one respect. Throughout the whole day’s journey they met only two trading caravans, long and slow-moving. Legolas’s fear of meeting a swift rider, eager to carry news back to S’fayyah, was unfounded; and yet the elf still left the road with Rekia when the great trains of pack horses and mules appeared in the distance. During one of these pauses Gedrinel brought his horse close to Imrahil’s.

“Are you well, My Lord?” he asked quietly.

For once Imrahil did not reprimand him for using the title. “Well enough,” he muttered, “but concerned for Legolas. Something is very wrong; I can feel it.”

“Perhaps I should propose that I take Rekia with me for a while,” the captain said dubiously. “You might then have the opportunity to speak with him.”

Imrahil sighed. “He would not consent to it, I am sure. I am not certain how, but he is still helping Rekia to rest her mind in dreams and avoid the pain, and he can only do so at close quarters.” 

“It must be taking an enormous effort on his part,” Gedrinel ventured. “Perhaps that is why he is not himself.”

“It is more than that,” Imrahil said. “He is in great distress, I am sure of it.”

As the prince had predicted, Legolas declined Gedrinel’s offer. His manner was calm and amiable, but it was clear that there could be no arguing with him. “I appreciate your concern, but it is better this way at present,” he said.

They reached the roadside lodgings shortly before sunset. Legolas was adamant that Rekia should not be seen, so Gedrinel and Kallim led the horses to drink and filled their water skins at the well while Imrahil and Legolas made camp around a small fire some quarter of a mile distant. A dozen or so travellers were settled on benches near the waterhole, and naturally a conversation began. There was no undue curiosity, but the riderless horses could not be ignored. The men nodded sympathetically at Kallim’s improvised description of the Lord Endariel’s sickness: nothing too serious, a mild flux that would probably pass by morning, but which kept him away from the crowded lodgings. One of the elderly merchants went so far as to delve in his pack for a crumpled bag of herbs to ease the pain and calm the stomach. Kallim bowed and thanked him solemnly, and Gedrinel, observing the young man’s easy charm, felt a small shock of warmth.

Once the horses had drunk their fill, Gedrinel and Kallim made their farewells and headed towards the camp. Gedrinel was not sorry to turn his back on the insect-infested shelters, but nor did he relish the thought of a night spent on hard ground. He need not have worried. Barely had he finished a rudimentary meal before his weariness overcame him. Rolled in his blanket at Kallim’s side, he slept as if he lay upon the finest feather bed and woke reluctantly, at Legolas’s insistence, as the sun was rising. It seemed that the elf had spent a wakeful night watching over them all, but he showed no sign of fatigue.

The second day of travelling began much as the first had done. If anything, the heat was even more intense, and a slight change in the wind direction blew more of the fine yellow dust into the riders’ faces. Gedrinel concentrated on the prospect of a long cool bath once they reached Khimmet, and tried to avoid complaining. He and Kallim, after a good night’s sleep, had reached an unspoken agreement to remain cheerful, whatever the mood of their companions. Riding at a respectful distance behind the others, they passed the time amusing each other with light-hearted anecdotes, and before long, Kallim’s natural ebullience was showing through. Gedrinel found himself chuckling in response to the southerner’s teasing innuendo, and realised that he had more than a good bath to look forward to at the end of the day. A glance along the road at the stiff-backed figure of Imrahil, however, was enough to dampen his spirits once more.

Quite unexpectedly, it was Rekia who brought some cheer to their gathering when they stopped to refresh themselves at midday. She had started the morning in that same trance-like state, and had spoken no more than a murmured word of thanks as she accepted the bread and coffee that constituted their breakfast. Once in the saddle, she had passed smoothly into sleep, relying on Legolas’s strength and vigilance to keep her safely seated. As Gedrinel and Kallim left the road to join their companions for rest and shelter from the noon sun, they saw that matters had changed. Rekia was sitting upright, still close to the elf, but not leaning against him. Although she was silent, her attitude was alert and her eyes bright.

“Ya’ren daziyyed na khaal temirreh,” Kallim said at once, bowing in her direction.

“Ti ya’ren,” Gedrinel added.

She inclined her head and murmured a polite response.

It soon became apparent that Rekia was much recovered, although not yet in the mood for talk. She seemed to understand Westron quite well but spoke little, and while she listened intently to the conversation, she kept her thoughts to herself. Only when Legolas reiterated the need for haste in reaching the capital, smiling apologetically in her direction, did she nod and say slowly, “It must be so.” Her voice was quiet but had a great depth of feeling to it. Whatever Bihal had done to her, Gedrinel thought, he had not managed to strip her of her dignity.

Imrahil seemed much heartened by Rekia’s improved condition, and with Kallim leading the discussion their gathering could almost have been merry. Nonetheless, Gedrinel noticed the sideways looks that the prince cast at Legolas from time to time. The elf’s placid demeanour would be enough to convince most men that there was nothing amiss. Apparently his lover was not so easy to fool.

They had agreed that it would be best to enter Khimmet after sunset, and thus spent two lazy hours resting in the sparse shade of the kaadins. Imrahil and Legolas sat with Rekia, while Gedrinel and Kallim, a little way off, lay back on the sand and talked of nothing important. It did not take Kallim long to bring the conversation around to his favourite subject. His colourful suggestions for ways in which they might entertain themselves once they reached the safety of Brenhir’s villa soon had Gedrinel’s pulse racing. 

“Enough,” Gedrinel growled. The day was hot enough already without Kallim raising the temperature further.

Kallim merely laughed and turned on his side to face Gedrinel, perilously close. “Don’t pretend you’re not longing for it,” he murmured. 

Gedrinel caught the hand straying across his hip and held the wrist in a firm grip. “If Rekia wasn’t with them I’d roll you onto your belly right here and put an end to your talk. As it is, you’ll just have to wait,” he hissed.

Kallim grinned at him. “Will you make it worth my while?” he asked.

Gedrinel glanced across the flat, featureless ground to the tiny patch of shade where their companions rested. As far as he could tell, nobody was looking their way. He dragged Kallim’s hand down and pressed it into his groin, allowing the southerner to feel the solid warmth of his cock, before pushing him firmly away. “I imagine so,” he said evenly, and gave a grin of his own as Kallim drew breath sharply.

The remainder of the journey to Khimmet passed without incident. The travellers entered the town shortly after nightfall and made their way swiftly to the governor’s house, on the northern side. There, the steward Hammin showed his worth. He gave no sign of surprise at their unannounced arrival, nor at the fact that they had brought a scarred and strangely dressed woman with them. He asked few questions, but sent a boy off to arrange for fresh horses, brought forth a sweet-faced young maid to assist Rekia in her bath, and dispatched two of the older women servants to find her an alternative to Kallim’s blue cloak and Legolas’s shirt. A fine meal was produced in the time it took the weary companions to set down their packs and wash their hands and faces. They ate with enthusiasm, but sent the second bottle of wine back to the cellar. 

“It would be wise for us to retire early and wake with clear heads,” Legolas said. “We will have a long and arduous ride tomorrow.”

Gedrinel caught Kallim’s eye across the table and worked to suppress a smile. He was eager to head upstairs, that much was true; but sleep was far from his mind.

Once the door of their chamber was safely locked behind them, Gedrinel quickly discarded his clothes and sponged himself with tepid water. He reclined on the bed, enjoying the movement of the evening breeze against his damp skin, as he watched Kallim undressing. Kallim, revelling in the attention, took his time. He made quite a show of it, letting his hands linger far longer than was necessary on his slowly revealed flesh, shaking his head to make the hair ripple down his back and looking over his shoulder to gaze knowingly at Gedrinel. 

“Are you ready for me?” Kallim asked.

“Come over here and find out,” Gedrinel replied. His hand moved to his cock, and Kallim’s eyes, predictably, followed.

The southerner licked his lips appreciatively. “I hardy need to ask, when the evidence is so... impressive,” he said.

Gedrinel had spent much of the afternoon imagining what he was going to do to Kallim as soon as he had the opportunity; but once Kallim was on the mattress at his side, all his plans vanished in an instant. He found himself embracing the southerner tightly, breathing his scent deeply, and placing long, bruising kisses on his shoulder, his neck, and finally his mouth.

“Such passion, Gedrinel?” Kallim whispered, only half mockingly, when they drew apart. “What is it? Were you afraid that you had lost me?”

Gedrinel had no answer, and indeed did not wish to contemplate the question, so he kissed Kallim again.

“You should know better,” said Kallim after a while. “I would not allow anything to keep me from this.” He ran a hand over Gedrinel’s hip as he spoke, and drew the captain even closer.

The words, or perhaps the caress, seemed to reignite Gedrinel’s more straightforward lust. He rolled Kallim onto his back and clambered into place between the promptly parted thighs. Moments later he was stroking Kallim’s cock with one hand, while reaching for the scented oil with the other. Kallim writhed under his touch and gasped in a way that made Gedrinel burn, but the captain had schooled himself to patience. Hard and ready as he was, he knew he would increase the pleasure for both of them by delaying it a little longer.

The oil smelled of orange blossom and wild thyme, and felt thick and warm on Gedrinel’s fingers. He dribbled a few drops onto Kallim’s cock and balls, and spent some time rubbing them in, moving slowly and with great deliberation. He waited to hear the first muttered, “Please...” before sitting back on his heels and coating his own erection with the glistening fluid. Watching him with widened eyes, Kallim shifted his hips up and pushed his knees further apart. The invitation could not be more plain, but Gedrinel chose to misinterpret it. He leaned forward onto one arm so as to drop his head to Kallim’s chest, licking and grazing for a while before settling with his lips around a nipple, his teeth worrying at the gold ring. Meanwhile he ran oiled fingers between Kallim’s buttocks, probing and teasing at the entrance there.

If Kallim was attempting to restrain himself, he did not succeed for long. Gasps became moans, and moans soon became words.

“Khib en gereffi, zereniyya! Fuck me now! Don’t make me wait any longer!”

Gedrinel raised himself on an elbow and shifted into position as Kallim lifted one leg and hooked a foot around his waist. Both groaned as Gedrinel slid inside, and from then on they moved in concert. Kallim’s hips pushed up to meet Gedrinel’s, and his heel in the small of the captain’s back, along with one arm wrapped around his shoulder, urged him on. Kallim’s other hand wriggled down between them, and Gedrinel could feel it working against his belly.

This was not the most frantic of all their trysts; but what it lacked in speed, it made up for in intensity. Before long Gedrinel felt the beginnings of the immense swell of pleasure, deep in his groin, that meant the end was close. He pushed up on both arms to stare at Kallim. The southerner’s sumptuous flesh was glazed with sweat, his hair tangled and damp, his eyes, huge and dark, fixed on Gedrinel’s face. 

Thrusting for all he was worth, Gedrinel watched as Kallim tensed beneath him. Kallim’s features tightened in a mask of concentration and his teeth pressed into his full lower lip. A glance down at his hand, pressed firmly around the base of his own cock, confirmed the nature of his exertion. He was holding back, using on himself all the devilish skill with which he had ensured Gedrinel’s ruin in the past.

The captain laughed, and thrust even harder. “Are you ready for me?” he asked.

“Deysh, Gedrinel! Yes! Now, now!” Kallim cried.

The words, and the urgent tone in which they were uttered, were enough to undo Gedrinel completely. He let out an almighty groan and fell forward as he came, vaguely aware that Kallim was with him, shuddering and shouting out a stream of incomprehensible Haradin as his muscles clamped around Gedrinel’s cock, drawing him in ever deeper.

Once the last spasms of pleasure had died away, Gedrinel pulled out carefully and rolled onto his back. He lay very still, sticky and exhausted, hoping that the sultry night air might yet offer some relief to his feverish skin. 

Kallim, seemingly untroubled by the heat, moved closer and combed the hair back from Gedrinel’s face with his fingers. “You still haven’t told me which way you like it best,” he said after a while.

“I still couldn’t say. It’s always incredible,” replied Gedrinel candidly.

“That’s true,” Kallim agreed, shifting his hand to Gedrinel’s chest and resting it there. “Aren’t you glad that you finally discovered your true nature?”

Sated and relaxed as he was, Gedrinel was oddly troubled by the question. He searched for a suitable reply, but found none. Instead, he mumbled something unintelligible and added, “We should sleep now.”

“Of course,” Kallim laughed in his ear. “Doubtless Legolas will be waking us well before the dawn.”

“Do you think he’s sleeping? He must tire sometime.”

“He won’t sleep until we’re back in the city, surely. He’ll be sitting with Rekia now.”

“Hmmm.” Kallim was right, of course.

“Let me wash you before you sleep,” Kallim said suddenly, sliding to the edge of the bed and getting to his feet.

“You shouldn’t,” Gedrinel protested half-heartedly, knowing quite well that Kallim would take no notice. The bathing had become something of a ritual for them, a ritual which in fact gave Gedrinel considerable pleasure.

He watched as Kallim crossed the room to fetch water and towels, walking with a slight but deliberate sway of his hips, and humming softly under his breath. Quite unexpectedly he thought of Imrahil, most likely lying restless and alone in his chamber while Legolas kept vigil at Rekia’s side. The world may envy the prince for having found Legolas’s favour, Gedrinel thought; but at this moment, I know which of us I would rather be.

 

********************

 

The revelation came the next morning. 

The servants woke Gedrinel and Kallim while it was still dark, with discreet knocks at the door and welcome bowls of clean warm water. The two men descended to find Imrahil alone in the dining chamber, a table full of food before him. After an exchange of greetings, Gedrinel commented on the impressive spread.

“We should eat well; the day will be a long one,” Imrahil said, but there was little eagerness in his voice. The prince, who usually ate with such enthusiasm, was merely toying with a morsel of bread and cheese. Gedrinel eyed him anxiously and wondered if there was something useful he could say. 

Before Gedrinel could reach a decision, the door opened, Legolas entered the room, and Imrahil’s face brightened. The elf bade them all, including Imrahil, good morning. 

Rekia did not appear. 

“The maid Halleya is attending her,” Legolas explained.

“Is she well?” Kallim enquired.

“As well as can be expected, although she was greatly troubled by violent dreams towards the end of the night. When she woke, she wished to speak to me of her husband’s dealings,” said Legolas, leaning forward as he spoke very quietly. The others likewise leaned in to listen. 

“I can reveal the identity of Bihal’s primary accomplice in the city,” Legolas continued. “His name is Nekhren.”

“Nekhren Levardin?” Imrahil asked sharply.

“The same.”

Gedrinel pictured the sharp-featured man and the sly, knowing way in which he’d goaded Kallim at the gymnasium. His fork, with the piece of meat still skewered upon it, fell to his plate and he stared, aghast, from Imrahil to Kallim.

“That is little surprise,” Kallim was saying evenly. “His name would have been near the top of my list.”

Imrahil’s brow furrowed. “You know the man?” he asked.

“I was about to ask you the same question,” Kallim replied. “Yes, I know him. He and I take exercise at the same establishment. You?”

“I have not met him, but I know his name,” Imrahil said, his face darkening. “We may have stumbled upon a disastrous situation. This Nekhren has Brenhir’s ear, and meets with him regularly.”

“The governor...” Gedrinel began, but stopped as Legolas shook his head. 

“Do not fear on that score,” the elf said. “I know Brenhir; there is no treachery in his soul. He may have been taken in by Nekhren, but he can have no knowledge of his duplicity, of that I am sure. Of course, the same may not be true of all the governor’s staff. A thorough investigation will be needed if the true extent of this perfidy is to be uncovered.”

“It will begin as soon as we get back,” Imrahil said grimly. “We will talk to Brenhir at once and set the wheels in motion.”

“Rekia mustn’t go to the palace until we are certain that it is safe,” Kallim put in. “Gedrinel and I should take her directly to Zirri’s house when we reach the city.”

“Will she be safe there?” asked Legolas.

“We can put a guard around the walls; it will not be the first time. One or two of Zirri's suitors have been somewhat irrationally persistent, in the past. She has some powerful friends who will lend her the men. Friends, I should say, who have no love for Nekhren. He is not a popular man.”

Gedrinel stared at Kallim, wondering how in Arda he could take it all so calmly. A glance across the table showed that Imrahil was also frowning at the southerner.

“He came to the palace, before we set out, to complain to Brenhir about my association with you,” the prince said suddenly.

“Nekhren did?” Kallim raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. He told Brenhir that I should not consider travelling with you.”

“Well, that is understandable. He would not want me asking around in S’fayyah and discovering that he had connections there. He knows me well enough to realise that I would be spending time in the markets, talking to the traders and hearing the gossip.”

“You were close to Nekhren?” Imrahil asked.

Kallim sat back and cleared his throat before speaking. “I would not put it quite like that. Nekhren has a... fondness for younger men. There was a time when he sought my company, but his attention is short-lived; it was caught by a fresher, less familiar face some time ago.”

Gedrinel’s stomach was churning. “Is he a believer?” he asked.

“Not that I am aware of, but he may have concealed the fact,” Kallim said, turning to Legolas.

“Of that, Rekia could not be certain. She did tell me that he is a powerful man with a cruel nature. I believe that she has suffered directly at his hands on at least one occasion,” the elf said quietly.

Kallim nodded, then lowered his eyes. Gedrinel gazed at him in speechless horror. 

“I will see him pay for it,” said Imrahil.

“Yes,” Legolas agreed. There was no need to say more. They sat in silence for a moment, until the opening of the door announced Rekia’s arrival. 

She looked very different, elegant and astonishingly serene, in her simple dark green robes and with her veil pushed back. Her black hair had been braided off her forehead, leaving her face, with all its evidence of maltreatment, quite exposed. For all her injuries, she was composed, dignified and undeniably beautiful. Gedrinel stared at her and felt his heart contract. How could Kallim sit there, so calmly discussing his intimate relationship with a man who had sanctioned such abuse? It was quite unthinkable.

Rekia made her greetings and sank stiffly into the chair Legolas offered her, at his side. 

“Are you able to eat something?” the elf asked solicitously, gesturing gracefully at the over-laden table. 

Rekia smiled at him, and a hint of warmth was visible in her eyes for the first time. “A little,” she said.

“It is well. You will need the sustenance. There are many leagues ahead of us, and there will be few opportunities to stop and refresh ourselves today.”

“I am ready,” she replied solemnly. “Every league takes me nearer to my brother, and further away from... him.”

The change that came over her as she spoke was astounding. The venom behind her final words was enough to set the hairs on end all along Gedrinel’s neck. It is no wonder that she and Legolas have an understanding, he thought, when both of them are concealing such depths of emotion that the rest of us can only guess at.

 

********************

 

Gedrinel peered at the city walls of Umbar, looming to the northeast in the dark of late evening. Like the first glimpse of land at the end of a dangerous voyage, the great granite battlements offered promise that the day’s trials were over. On this occasion, however, the sense of relief was mixed with a large portion of nervous dread, dread of a trial of a very different kind.

It had been a long and deeply unpleasant journey. Through exceptional heat and intermittent sand storms Legolas had maintained a punishing pace; the others had had no option but to follow him. Now, as they approached their destination, Gedrinel’s body was aching all over and his thighs and rear felt monstrously sore, but it was his mind that was most troubled. 

There had been no opportunity for conversation during their breakneck ride, but plenty of time for Gedrinel's thoughts to run wild. Although he had tried to suppress the images, they simply would not leave him in peace. Kallim on his knees before a tall, robed figure, his full lips servicing the man’s heavy, dark flesh; Kallim on all fours, tossing his head and groaning with delight as Nekhren rode him brutally; Kallim writhing and moaning under the merciless attention of long, cruel hands, his face contorting in ecstasy as Nekhren's triumphant laugh rent the air. 

The words Nekhren had used at the gymnasium came back to him with dreadful clarity: "He is a very talented boy, but so deliciously… willing in defeat." He had heard the phrase over and again as a terrible rage grew within him.

Gedrinel drew his horse to a halt, joining the others as they waited some quarter mile from the gates. It was their last chance to speak freely before entering the city. Kallim was reassuring Imrahil once more.

“Zirri’s house is not five minutes from the gates,” he said. “We will go there directly and no harm will befall us. I will send a messenger to the palace at once to let you know that we have arrived safely. He will most likely arrive before you do; Brenhir’s guards will insist on accompanying you, and they will not rush.”

“Send word to Zirri’s friends first, to post men around her walls,” Imrahil replied.

“Of course. All will be well, trust me.”

Imrahil grunted, but let the matter drop. “Gedrinel,” he said, turning his horse towards the captain, “Until we have met with the governor I cannot be certain of our plans. However, we may need to sail swiftly, in order to take word to the King. I will send to you tomorrow at the Lynx. Be ready.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Gedrinel said promptly, hoping that his voice gave no hint of his inner turmoil. 

Legolas and Rekia had dismounted, and had seemingly said their farewells. She spoke briefly with Imrahil, too quietly for the others to hear, and then approached Gedrinel’s horse. With Legolas’s help she was soon seated in front of Gedrinel, and he adjusted his position and his grip on the reins accordingly. Rekia felt frail and insubstantial to him, and his horse barely seemed to notice the extra weight. She must not have eaten properly in months.

Once they reached the gate matters proceeded exactly as Kallim had predicted. There was much stiff-necked ceremony on the part of the guards, which would have been amusing at any other time. While their captain was organising an escort to accompany the royal visitors to the palace, Imrahil dismissed the others with appropriately casual condescension, and Gedrinel, Kallim and Rekia hurried away. Everybody was far too interested in the two princes to pay much attention to Gedrinel’s companion. 

“They probably assume you’ve found yourself a wife,” Kallim murmured as they turned the corner.

Gedrinel did not laugh.

There was no sign of anyone following them or watching their progress as they made their way to the house. Within five minutes they reached the side door, where they quickly slipped inside, leaving Fadir to deal with the horses. 

Kallim wasted no time in calling the servants to action. One was sent to the kitchens, another to prepare a room for Rekia, while a third brought paper and a quill. The musician Nessya set off across the courtyard to alert Zirri to their presence in the most discreet manner possible; she had company, as was only to be expected. Gedrinel and Rekia sank onto the couches in the cool, elegant sitting area, sipping thankfully at glasses of water and reviving tea, as Kallim wrote a note to be carried forthwith to the palace. Barely had he pressed the scroll into the serving boy’s hand when Zirri appeared at the door. 

If Zirri had come directly from the embrace of her client, Gedrinel would never have known it. In her filmy golden gown, her hair artfully swirling over one shoulder, she looked radiant and perfectly groomed. Her face was alive with joy as she greeted Kallim, and the smile she bestowed on Gedrinel was full of genuine warmth. It only served to increase his misery.

Having welcomed the men, Zirri turned to Rekia, who had stood carefully and stepped forward, pushing her veil away from her face as she did so. Kallim introduced Rekia succinctly, saying nothing of her history save that she needed a safe place to stay for the present. The two women gazed at each other for a long moment, as Zirri’s face took on a look of compassionate distress.

“My sister,” she said in a low voice, “What khezennid did this to you?”

Rekia shook her head, and Zirri moved closer to her, reaching out to place a hand on her arm. “Of course,” she murmured, “there will be time for all that. What you need now is to rest, to sleep, to take time to heal.”

“Indeed,” said Kallim, “but we also need to make the house secure. There is a story here, one of treachery and danger, much of which I will tell you later. Can you call upon one of your acquaintances?”

“We should have guards?”

“Yes, and rapidly.”

Zirri nodded gravely. “The man who waits now in the green room has been a true friend to me for many years,” she said. “I am certain that he will help us one more time. I shall speak with him before he leaves.” She let her glance rest on Rekia for a moment, then looked from Gedrinel back to Kallim. “Wait here for me, if you please; the bulk of your story may have to be left until tomorrow, but I would hear a little of your news tonight.”

 

********************

 

Kallim slid the heavy bolt into place and spun on his heel to face Gedrinel. “At last,” he said.

Gedrinel did not reply, but stood rigidly in the middle of the room. 

Kallim took a step closer and frowned. “Will you not speak, now that you have the chance? I have suffered enough of your bleak looks today.”

“What is there to say?” Gedrinel looked away.

“Tell me what troubles you.” 

“I think you know very well what troubles me,” Gedrinel snapped.

“Better that I hear it from you,” Kallim insisted.

Gedrinel paused, trying to avoid looking into Kallim’s searching eyes. “You and Nekhren,” he said at last.

“Of course, that is it.” Kallim sounded strangely satisfied by the admission.

“You slept with him.”

“I shared his bed, if that is what you mean. I never slept in his arms, as I do in yours.”

“How can you act as if it doesn’t matter?” On this occasion Gedrinel would not be sidetracked by Kallim’s seductive tactics.

“It is far in the past. What do you expect me to say?”

“The man is a monster. You must have known what he was, and yet you, you...”

“I refuse to pretend it didn’t happen? What would be the point?” Kallim gazed at him unwaveringly.

“But you knew?” the captain persisted.

“Not a great deal. Gedrinel, I was young and friendless, I had just arrived in the city and was finding my feet. He didn’t strike me as a virtuous man, but I wasn’t in a position to choose.”

“What do you mean?”

“He approached me, and made it very clear that it would not be in my interests – nor in Zirri’s – to refuse him.”

“So you went with him.”

“Yes,” Kallim responded without hesitation.

“How many times?”

“Does it make any difference?”

“I am asking you.”

“Maybe fifteen, twenty times. As I said to Imrahil, Nekhren has little use for familiar pleasures.”

Gedrinel shook his head, unwilling to accept the facts before him. “The thought disgusts me,” he said. “And knowing what he has been involved with -”

“It doesn’t exactly please me, but what can I do? I will not lie to you. It is in the past, and it has nothing to do with you and me.” Kallim was beginning to raise his voice to match Gedrinel’s angry tone.

“Did he force you?”

“It would be so much easier for you if I said yes, wouldn’t it? Then you could simply hate him, instead of hating me.”

“Did he? Tell me the truth.” Gedrinel moved towards Kallim. He reached out and gripped the southerner’s shoulder, his fingers curling into the flesh.

“No, he did not.” Kallim’s chest was heaving, as if he was making a great effort to remain calm. “You want the truth; you shall have it. Nekhren can be very charming when he so chooses. I always had grave reservations about him, but my nights with him were not entirely unpleasant.”

“So you would taunt me with that, would you?” Gedrinel raised his other hand to Kallim’s shoulder. 

“I’m not taunting you. You said you wanted the truth.”

“What did you do with him, those fifteen or twenty times? Come now, tell me.” His grip tightened.

“You’re hurting me, Gedrinel. Please stop it.”

Gedrinel ignored the plea and moved nearer to Kallim, leaning down to hiss, close to his face, “Was he cruel to you? Did you enjoy it? Is that why you went back to him?”

“Gedrinel -”

“Is that what you want from me? Do you want me to treat you cruelly?”

“No!” Kallim brought both hands up and pushed against Gedrinel’s chest, twisting out of his grasp as he did so. He took a few steps back but did not turn away. “That is not what I want from you! What happened with Nekhren is nothing like what there is between us. He meant nothing to me. I was not in love with him!”

“In love? Why do you speak of love?” said Gedrinel into the sudden silence. He could taste bile at the back of his mouth.

“Because I am in love with you. Can you really claim not to know it?”

“What?” 

“You wonder what I want from you, well, let me tell you. I want you to let me come with you, here in Umbar, in Belfalas, to sea, to the north, wherever. I want to be with you. I want you to let me love you.”

“I...”

“I know you won’t say that you love me in return, but it doesn’t matter,” Kallim said, the words coming out in a rush. “I know what I felt when you held me in your arms, on the morning when we rode back from S’fayyah. It’s enough. I’ll say it again: I love you, Gedrinel.”

“You think this is love?” Gedrinel heard himself speak the phrase with a strange sense of unreality, as if he was no longer in control of his own voice.

“I know what I feel.”

“This isn’t love, this lust, this... rutting, these sordid games with chains and whips!”

“That’s only part of it. Surely you must realise that.”

“I think you know nothing of love, you who did it with Nekhren, and however many more besides.” He didn’t seem to be able to stop the hurtful words coming out.

“That’s exactly how I know that this is different,” Kallim shot back.

“Huh! So you say. Yet I’d wager that if I sailed tomorrow, not a week would pass before you found some other bastard to treat you roughly.”

Kallim drew a sharp breath, his eyes widening. “How can you say that?” he demanded. “What do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. You’re nothing better than a...” Gedrinel stopped, appalled at himself, even in the thick of his anger.

“A what? A whore? Is that what you meant to say? A whore, just like my mother’s sister?”

Gedrinel stared at him, speechless, desperately trying to find a way out of the corner in which he had trapped himself.

Kallim said, very slowly and precisely, “I don’t deserve that, Gedrinel, and neither does Zirri.”

Still Gedrinel could find no words.

“If that’s really what you think, you can get out.”

“Kallim -”

“I said, get out! Get out now!”

Gedrinel took a step forward and extended a hand towards Kallim. He felt utterly sick, and his ears were ringing.

Kallim stood his ground, and faced Gedrinel with a blank expression that pierced the captain’s heart in a way his words could not. “Will you get out, or shall I call Albakhri to throw you out?” he said, in a quiet, toneless voice. 

It was clear from Kallim’s manner that this was no idle threat. Gedrinel stared at him helplessly, then crossed to the table where his belongings lay. He shouldered the pack and picked up his cloak before glancing again at Kallim. The southerner had not moved; his gaze appeared to be fixed on some point on the opposite wall. Gedrinel moved slowly to the door and stopped, turning with his hand on the bolt for a last look. Kallim was standing very still and straight, his hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides. The sight of him could have made Gedrinel weep, but there was nothing he could say. He had done enough damage already.

Gedrinel fumbled with the latch and staggered out into the corridor. He shifted the weight of his pack and forced himself to move towards the side door. The servant Fadir was there, fussing and exclaiming over Gedrinel’s heavy load, but the captain brushed him away with a grunt. He did not trust himself to speak. Fadir must have understood, for he stepped to one side and pulled the great door open without further comment. 

Gedrinel did not look back. He swallowed, blinked to clear his stinging eyes, and stumbled out into the night.

 

********************

 

Rekia mediyella: Rekia, my lady

Ya’ren na daziyyed ten aliyaan: I am so happy that you are with us

Ya’ren daziyyed na khaal temirreh: I am happy to see you well

Ti ya’ren: As am I

Khib en gereffi, zereniyya!: Just do it, my captain!

Deysh: Yes

Khezennid: (loosely translated) Bastard


	16. Chapter 16

Brenhir shook his head and made an exasperated noise. "I still can't believe it," he said. "Not that Nekhren Levardin is up to his neck in intrigue - that makes perfect sense; but that I failed to see through him. I realise it now: he's been cultivating me for years, and Farongil, of course. I'd expect the boy to fall for that kind of blatant flattery, but I should have known better! It seems that Mariel is the only one of us with an ounce of wit. She's always said that the man is a slug."

Imrahil nodded sympathetically. "I understand your frustration, but in reality there is no need for self recrimination. You have done nothing wrong. I am quite certain that Nekhren has gained no unwitting help from you. You are far too wise a statesman for that."

"None the less, in all those cosy meetings we've had together, I should have spotted that something was amiss," Brenhir said. He shook his head again, a look of disgust on his face. 

"Perhaps we should concentrate on the ways forward at this time, and worry about the past later," suggested Imrahil. It had been an exhausting day.

"Of course, my apologies. You don't need to sit and listen to me cursing myself after the journey you've had," Brenhir replied, with more of his usual spirit. "Well, it seems likely that Nekhren already knows of this Bihal's death, although there could be other explanations for his absence. In any case, we're bringing his entire household in for questioning, and I've already sent messengers to the garrisons nearest to all his other properties. We'll find him soon enough, don't you worry.”

"What of your staff?" Legolas interjected. "Whilst I have no wish to cast doubt upon your own people, it is possible that Nekhren has particular friends at the palace."

"I'm taking no chances," Brenhir said shortly. "Anyone who's had dealings with him is already under observation, and we'll interview them all tomorrow. Which brings me onto an important question. Prince Legolas, I wonder if you'd be prepared to give us some assistance? It could take an age to get to the bottom of this by the more usual means, but I'd wager that you'd spot the rotten apples within a few moments of talk."

"I cannot guarantee it," the elf said thoughtfully, "I do not possess the power to read the minds of men at will, as is commonly supposed. However, I should be able to detect any strong emotions - an abnormal level of anxiety, for instance. Yes, naturally I shall help you."

"Which means we will not be leaving for at least two or three days," said Imrahil. "Yet a message must be sent north. The King needs to know that there may be treachery afoot in his own realm."

"I shall order a ship to set sail tonight for Dol Amroth," Brenhir said at once. "Will you write yourself, or shall I call for Meh'ten? Of all my staff, I am sure he is to be trusted."

"Gods, Meh'ten!" Imrahil exclaimed. "We must see him at once, to tell him that his sister is safe. But the message for the King I shall write myself, unless -" he glanced at Legolas.

"Better that it comes from you," the elf said, his face unreadable.

Of course, there had been no opportunity for Legolas to tell Aragorn about his journey south. No doubt the King's other sources would have made him well aware of it by now, but it would hardly be politic for the elf's first communication on the matter to be one such as this.

Brenhir and Legolas discussed times and arrangements, while Imrahil listened with half an ear as he drafted a note for Aragorn. Then he sat back in his chair, trying to swallow his yawns. Eventually his weariness overcame him and he raised a hand to his gaping mouth. "I am sorry," he said with a rueful smile.

"No, it's I who am sorry," Brenhir exclaimed. "How many leagues have you ridden today, and here am I keeping you awake with this talk? Let me call Meh’ten now, and the remainder of the details can be sorted out in the morning. Will you need anything else before you retire?"

Nothing that you can give me, my friend, Imrahil thought. He looked across at Legolas, but found nothing in the elf's neutral expression to reassure him. 

Meh’ten entered the study a few moments later. He made the appropriate respectful greetings, but his eyes flickered anxiously from Imrahil to Legolas. 

Imrahil waited for the signal from Brenhir, then came straight to the point. “We have good news, Meh’ten. Rekia is safe, and here in the city.”

“Here? Oh, My Lord -” Meh’ten looked from one to the other again, said something in Haradin, and then uttered a sound that was half sob, half laugh.   
He gazed at Imrahil with brimming eyes. “She is here, in the palace?” he asked.

“Not here, no. She is in another safe place, for the time being. There are good reasons.” As he spoke, Imrahil could see Brenhir’s frown from the corner of his eye. The governor was still unhappy about Zirri’s involvement in the affair, and he remained unmoved by Imrahil’s eloquent praise of Kallim.

“You fear that Bihal will pursue her?” Meh’ten asked. “Please tell me where she is.”

“Bihal will not pursue her,” Legolas said quietly. “He is dead.”

“Dead? You are certain of it?” Meh’ten spun around to stare at the elf. 

“I am certain. He died at my hand.”

There was a pause, then suddenly Meh’ten was kneeling before Legolas, clasping the elf’s hand between his and pressing it to his forehead. He was uttering a long invocation in Haradin, which needed no translation. Legolas gently urged Meh’ten to his feet, speaking softly to him in his own tongue. 

Brenhir cleared his throat, and said in a slightly gruff voice, “Meh’ten, you’d better sit down.”

At once the scribe straightened his back. “I am sorry, My Lord,” he said, bowing his head to Brenhir, “In my relief, I forgot myself.” 

”Good heavens, man, there’s no need to be sorry,” Brenhir replied briskly. “We understand. Now, sit yourself down.”

“Yes, do sit,” urged Legolas, getting to his feet and guiding Meh’ten towards the couch under the shuttered window.

It was the elf who explained to Meh’ten that his fears for Rekia’s safety had been well founded, and that he should prepare himself for the shock of her fragile condition. He was at least able to conclude on an optimistic note. 

“Her health has improved enormously in just three days, and those spent in the saddle rather than resting as she deserves. Your sister has great inner strength, it is clear; I am confident that she will make a full recovery, given time.”

“I must see her,” Meh’ten said. There was a pleading note in his voice as he turned to Brenhir. “Sire, I beg of you -”

“Of course, it can be arranged, tomorrow morning,” said the governor with some reluctance. “I still think she’d be better off here at the palace,” he added to Imrahil in an undertone.

“With respect, my friend, we thought it better for Rekia to remain out of sight for the time being. The house is well secured; she will come to no harm there.” Imrahil spoke firmly, and inwardly resolved to get to the bottom of Brenhir’s distrust of Zirri and Kallim at some stage before he left Umbar. For now, however, there were other matters to attend to. 

The interview with Meh’ten was drawn to a close as rapidly as the scribe’s emotional state would allow, and once he had left the room Imrahil and Legolas bade Brenhir goodnight. 

“I was beginning to wonder if this night would ever end,” the prince murmured as they climbed the great curved staircase together.

“Indeed,” said Legolas. “I feared my weariness would overcome me before long.”

Imrahil frowned at his lover in surprise. When had Legolas ever complained of weariness before? 

Imrahil’s manservant Neledhen was waiting for him in his chambers, with a great beaming smile brightening his face. Although Imrahil longed to be left alone to pursue his own concerns, he had not the heart to dismiss the man abruptly. He asked after Neledhen’s health, commented on his fine new Haradin robes, and thanked him for his heartfelt greetings. Then he spoke a little of the journey south as Neledhen helped him into his nightshirt, collected his soiled clothes, and darted around the room adjusting the lamps. 

Once sufficient time had passed for his servant to feel properly appreciated, Imrahil smiled and nodded to him. “That will be all, Neledhen, thank you. I must rise early in the morning.”

“Yes, My Lord. I pray that you sleep well.” Neledhen bowed deeply and left the room.

Imrahil turned the key in the lock before moving swiftly to the smaller door that connected his chamber to Legolas’s. He knocked softly, but hearing no reply, pushed it open and walked through into the near-darkness beyond. Then he stopped, astonished.

The faint light of the single candle lantern was enough to show Legolas lying unmoving on the covers of his bed, still dressed in his travelling clothes. The elf’s arms were neatly crossed on his chest and his eyes were open, apparently gazing at the ceiling. It seemed that he had done nothing but remove his weapons and boots before lying down, since his hair was still braided behind his ears and his belt fastened around his hips. 

As Imrahil stared at his sleeping lover, he experienced a powerful mixture of emotions, chiefly sympathy, dismay and frustration. The daring raid on Bihal’s house had come about due to Imrahil’s insistence on saving Rekia, yet it was Legolas who had given so much, body and spirit, in order to bring her back safely to the city. Desperate as Imrahil was to speak to his lover, it would be unforgivably selfish of him to wake Legolas now. He would simply have to wait until the morrow to find out what was wrong.

He hesitated, wondering if he should quietly climb onto the bed beside Legolas and attempt to offer some comfort, even as the elf slept. Would Legolas wake? It was hard to tell. Under normal circumstances, the elf would already have sensed Imrahil’s presence in the chamber and roused himself from slumber to offer the prince a warm smile and a welcoming arm. Then again, on any normal night Legolas would have undressed and bathed before coming through to Imrahil’s room, to rest there until the approaching dawn prompted the return to his own bed for propriety’s sake.

Imrahil hardly needed any further reminder that this was no ordinary night.

At last the prince made his decision and crept carefully towards the motionless figure. He came close enough to see the faint rise and fall of the elf’s chest, then paused and studied his lover’s expressionless face for a while. Legolas did not stir. Imrahil murmured, almost inaudibly, “Sleep well, my love; I hope the morning finds you in a more expansive mood.” With that, he turned away reluctantly and went back to his own room.

Imrahil did not expect to sleep; his mind was far too busy worrying over the elf’s withdrawal from him and the anguish that lay behind it. None the less, he went through the motions, as there was little else to be done. He splashed cool water over his face, extinguished all the lamps except the one beside his bed, and settled himself in the middle of the large, empty mattress. His muscles were tense and aching, the effects of the long ride exacerbated by his nervous state. If Legolas had been with him, Imrahil might have asked him for a rub down with sweet oil to relax his weary legs. On any normal night the elf would have been happy to comply. 

Imrahil sighed, and turned on his side, seeking the elusive position that would bring relief to his restless limbs and soul. Then, realising that there was no such position to be found, he closed his eyes and resigned himself to a long and uneasy night.

 

********************

 

On the second evening Imrahil dismissed Neledhen outright, saying that he and Legolas had important aspects of the day’s developments to discuss in private. Doubtless Neledhen suspected that they had urgent business of a rather different nature, but at least protocol had been observed. Imrahil locked the door behind his manservant without delay, and turned to Legolas, sitting quietly on one of the low chairs at the far side of the room. 

“At last we can talk,” Imrahil said with feeling.

“Indeed. I am sorry that this matter has kept us apart for most of the day.” 

There was something about Legolas’s tone that was less than convincing, but Imrahil let it pass for the time being. He paused for a moment, wondering how best to continue.

It had been a productive day, if not an enjoyable one. While Legolas disappeared off into the depths of the palace with two of Brenhir’s most trusted men, Imrahil had stayed at the governor’s side. Together they had received the reports of numerous agents, from inside the palace itself, from around the city and from much further afield. They had learned a good deal, but had heard no word as yet that Nekhren had been found. A number of his servants were sufficiently grateful for the offer of protection to tell what they knew; their information had led to a score of local arrests and orders for two dozen more. It seemed that the plot had been uncovered at an early stage. By the Valar’s grace they had caught it before it spread too far. 

The day’s work had ended with a private meal at which Imrahil, Legolas and Brenhir discussed all that they had found out. The elf’s presence had clearly brought a new efficiency to the interrogation process. Most of the palace staff had been interviewed, and five now sat in the prison cells, awaiting their trials for treason. Legolas had seemed quite unmoved as he gave his account of events, but Imrahil could only wonder what he was really thinking. This, after all, was a plot to kill the man to whom his spirit was eternally bound.

And now Legolas was sitting before him, with that same bland expression on his beautiful face. Imrahil, irritable and anxious after a night of fitful sleep and lurid dreams, had to remind himself to be patient.

“So?” he said.

“Forgive me. I am still in need of sleep,” Legolas replied.

“Is that the excuse you plan to use tonight, now that you do not have Rekia to watch over?” 

“Excuse?” Legolas looked genuinely puzzled. 

“For avoiding my bed once again.”

“I had not thought to avoid it. Shall I not spend the night at your side?”

“With a gulf of a mile between us? I do not think so.” 

Legolas sighed, and looked down at his hands. “Imrahil, do you not know that you can trust me when I say that there are some matters best left undisturbed?”

“It is not a question of trust,” Imrahil replied. “Of course I know I can trust you, but I also know that you are in great pain. Oh yes,” he continued, as Legolas looked up at him inquiringly, “you may conceal it from the rest of them, but you cannot hide it from me. Share it with me. Tell me what happened in Bihal’s house. I only wish to help you.”

There was a silence, then Legolas rearranged his hands in his lap before speaking. “I appreciate your concern, but there are very good reasons why I cannot discuss what happened with you. Please believe me.”

Imrahil settled in the chair opposite Legolas and leaned forward, gazing steadily into his lover’s eyes. “Do you remember what you said to me in Minas Tirith? That with me, you did not need to be strong? Have I ever given you cause to change your mind?”

Legolas shook his head. His expression was no longer bland; a look of deepest sorrow had stolen across his features. 

“Then let me be the strong one now. If you cannot do this for yourself, do it for me. You know that I will not be able to rest until you tell me the truth.”

“And if I do not wish to cause you distress?”

Imrahil took a deep breath. “You are already causing me distress,” he said as gently as he could. “How do you imagine it feels, to be pushed away like this?”

The elf stared at him for a long moment. Imrahil saw, to his horror, that the ageless blue eyes were glittering with tears. 

“I am sorry,” Legolas said quietly.

“There is no need to apologise. I do understand.”

Eventually Legolas nodded, attempted a smile, then looked down at his hands once more. “Very well,” he said.

There was another lengthy silence. Imrahil had grown accustomed to his lover’s habit of thinking carefully before embarking on a difficult conversation, so he sat as still as he could, hoping to slow his own racing pulse a little.

“When I entered Bihal’s house, I found it to be much as Zeneb had described,” Legolas began at last. His voice had a strangely flat quality. “He had thought himself well protected by his magic, and the lock on the door to the roof was easily forced. I was inside within moments, and found that that all was quiet.”

Imrahil shifted in his seat, but did not take his eyes off Legolas.

“Bihal’s chamber would have been easy to identify even without Zeneb’s information,” the elf went on. “There were two guards posted in the corridor, a little way from the door. They were half asleep and did not notice me, so I let them be at first, and went down the stairs. I looked in all the rooms where Rekia was likely to be sleeping, but found nobody. It was hardly unexpected; one might generally expect to find a wife in her husband’s room. I had hoped otherwise, but I had my plan.”

There it was again, the wringing and settling of Legolas’s hands as he paused and drew breath. “The two guards presented no problems. I left them subdued upon the floor and tried the door. I was happily surprised to find it opening without resistance. My intention was to wait until I was certain that the occupants of the room were sleeping, and then to enter with the utmost stealth, so I listened carefully for the slightest of sounds. What I heard made it impossible for me to linger.”

Imrahil waited.

“It was the sound of a woman in desperate pain, a woman near the end of her endurance. I could not stand by and hear it again without taking action, so I pushed the door open and went inside. There was enough light from the lamps to see it all. I shall never forget it. I will not describe the details of Rekia’s condition, but suffice to say I had not realised that men were capable of such calculated cruelty. And Bihal -” 

“Yes?” Imrahil said, leaning a little closer.

“He was waiting. Sitting up on his bed with a look of gleeful contempt, as if he had expected my arrival.” 

“How could he have known?” Imrahil asked, astonished.

“It seems I had underestimated his powers. That fact became apparent very rapidly.”

“What happened?” 

“I moved to release Rekia from her bondage. It was clear that Bihal could not stop me by force. He was such an enormous man, even to lift himself from the bed would have taken great effort, and I could see that he had no weapon to hand. He must have employed servants to torture Rekia on his behalf. As I cut through her chains, I spoke to him, telling him that I was going to free her with or without his consent.”

“What did he do? Did he not attempt to stop you?”

"He laughed. It was a dreadful sound that brought me to an unexpected halt. I realised after a moment that he was fighting me, not with any material weapons, but with his mind. He was far more skilled than I had supposed, and I could not simply overcome him, stride to the bed and deal with him in a merely physical way. I had to engage with him on his terms, to wrestle with his spirit."

"I cannot imagine what that might mean."

"Believe me, it is better that you cannot. It was vile. He was taunting me, filling my head with filth and violence. It was hard to see my way, but little by little I made progress. Once I understood that I was the stronger, it occurred to me that I could use his arrogance to my advantage. I took his threats and sneers and began to draw from them the truth about his hideous schemes. At the same time I was nearing the bed. I knew that if I could move close enough, I could put an end to his resistance."

"What was Rekia doing while all this was going on?"

"She was slumped to the floor, barely conscious. It was clear that she could be of no help."

"So you carried on struggling with Bihal -"

"Yes." Legolas stopped, and looked at Imrahil with haunted eyes. "In order to grapple with him, I gave too much of myself away. He saw too deeply into my mind and heart, and he used the knowledge gained there against me."

There was no great change in the elf's manner, but Imrahil understood at once that they had reached the core of the matter. He waited in silence for the explanation.

"I killed him in anger, before he had given up all his secrets. It was not a clean death, nor a killing worthy of a warrior." Legolas was staring at the floor. His hands were clenched into fists now, the knuckles whitened.

"Legolas," said Imrahil softly, after a while, "that is not all of it. What did he do to you before he died?" 

Legolas raised his eyes to meet Imrahil's very slowly. The prince stifled a gasp at the sight of his lover's face. It was as if all the life and joy had been drained from him, leaving a picture of anguished despair.

"He showed me Aragorn's death," Legolas whispered at last. “And yours.” He swallowed, then continued, “Please, do not ask me to tell you more than that."

Imrahil slid off the chair onto his knees before the elf, and reached up with both arms to hold him. “Oh, sweet Valar! Legolas, I am so sorry.”

“Now do you understand why I wished to spare you?” 

“Sparing me is the least of your concerns,” replied Imrahil fiercely. 

“It is not right that I should speak to you of my distress over Aragorn, nor especially of...”

“Of my own end? Do not fear, my love. As I told you, I am strong enough to hear it.”

Legolas did not reply, but simply stared at him, tears sliding down his face.

Imrahil got to his feet, and gently urged the elf up alongside him. “Let us continue this conversation in a more comfortable place,” he said. Legolas did not resist as Imrahil led him to the bed. They sat together on its edge, and Imrahil placed an arm around his lover’s shoulder. He felt Legolas lean into him slightly, and despite the horror of it all, his spirits lifted. If Legolas was prepared to accept his comfort, there was hope.

Imrahil smoothed a hand over the elf’s hair and placed a soft kiss on his temple. Then he said slowly, “I must ask you only one thing. These visions that Bihal put into your head. Were they prophesies, or fantasies?”

“The latter, I am certain of it; mere products of his foul imagination, but enough for me to feel how it would be.”

“How did it feel?” It seemed heartless to press for more detail, but some instinct told Imrahil that the question needed to be asked.

“First the terrible pain of witnessing such suffering, and then -” the elf stopped, and shook his head.

“Go on.”

“I saw my hours stretching out before me, like the individual grains in the sea of sand, and each one of them a moment when I would be alone.”

“Oh, my love,” Imrahil murmured, drawing Legolas closer to him. He held his lover for a time, feeling the shuddering of strong shoulders as Legolas sobbed noiselessly.

“You will never be alone,” Imrahil said at last, rubbing his cheek against the blond hair. “You must not think that.”

“I am sorry. It is selfish of me to speak this way, when it must be so much worse for you.” 

“For me?” echoed Imrahil, surprised. Then, comprehending, he went on, “You mean the contemplation of my own death? Nay, love, I do not fear it.”

“You do not? Even when you have no knowledge of what lies beyond?”

“I may have no knowledge, but I do have faith,” said Imrahil firmly, “Faith that, whether I face oblivion or some other state, it will be no cause for sorrow.” He thought for a moment, then asked, “Have you ever witnessed a peaceful death?” 

Legolas did not even pause to consider the question. “No, only the untimely consequences of war.” 

Imrahil nodded. “I have. Glantathar’s illness was long and difficult, but when the end came she was ready for it, welcomed it, even. As a child I dreamed of a glorious death in battle, but as a man I have come to realise that there is no such thing. All I hope for now is to pass away as my wife did, surrounded by my loved ones and giving thanks for the life I have had. Leaving you might break my heart, but I will feel no dread of what lies before me.”

“Then you are a brave man.”

“I do not think so; simply one who is at peace with himself. You must not mourn for me, even when the time comes; and certainly not now, when we still have so much to discover together.”

At this Legolas turned his face towards the prince and managed a small smile. Imrahil felt his heart twist painfully. There was one last secret to be shared with his lover. He wrapped his fingers around Legolas’s hand as he said, “The very last words that Glantathar spoke to me were, ‘Promise me that you will allow yourself to love again.’ I will ask the same of you, and if I know Aragorn at all, his request to you will be no different.”

Legolas stared at him, his eyes filling with tears once more. Imrahil judged that he had said all that he could, and pulled the elf into a tight embrace. They sat for a long while in silence. Imrahil was vaguely aware of the sweat sticking his shirt to his back, of the buzzing of a fly endlessly circling the lamp, and of a dull ache in his lower back that had troubled him all day. The majority of his mind, however, was occupied with the sensation of Legolas: his heart beating against Imrahil’s own, the scent of him, his silken hair pressed into Imrahil’s cheek, and above all the great weight of sorrow that hung about him. In spite of it, Imrahil felt sure that the worst was over.

It was Legolas who pulled back eventually. “You are a brave man, Imrahil,” he said, “and wise, and beautiful in every sense. I only hope that I may prove myself to be deserving of your love.”

Imrahil shook his head. “Think of the fate that awaited Rekia, and of Meh’ten’s joy on hearing of her release; and then tell me that you do not deserve some happiness,” he said firmly. “And now, come, lie down with me, and let me hold you in my arms until the morning.”

 

********************

 

At first it seemed that he might be dreaming.

The touch was a mere whisper against his skin, gliding over his hip, across his thigh, lingering at the back of his knee before skating up the front of his leg and further, along his side to his chest. There the smooth-tipped fingers remained, circling lightly. Imrahil, still half asleep, shifted on the damp sheet and muttered a query.

In answer, cool lips pressed against his forehead, then travelled down, brushing from the bridge to the tip of his nose and finding their way, slowly, to his mouth. At first the nimble tongue simply followed the shape of his own lips; but soon, softly insistent, it pushed between them, licking and dancing and forcing him to open ever wider.

At the same time, the roaming hand began to trace larger figures on his torso, setting his skin alight wherever contact was made. By the time his mind accepted that he was actually awake, Imrahil’s body was already gleefully, shamelessly aroused. Quite defenceless, he turned towards his lover and groaned with pleasure as the elf pressed hot and supple flesh against his own.

“Mmmm, Legolas, what is... ah!” Imrahil mumbled.

“Forgive me for waking you,” the elf breathed into his ear, “but after all that talk of death I find I have a powerful need to celebrate life.” 

The fingers curling around his cock left Imrahil in no doubt as to what such a celebration might entail. “Gods!” he gasped, as his hips pushed up involuntarily into the elf’s touch. 

He opened his eyes and struggled to bring the world into focus. The room was not quite dark; although it was still night time, an oil lamp had been left burning. Its light showed Legolas, an expression of intense concentration on his lovely face, staring down at Imrahil as his hand continued its deliberate caress.

“Oh, my love,” Imrahil sighed. He started to roll onto his side, bringing his arm up as he did so, but found himself pushed firmly back down. Legolas moved to straddle his hips and held both his wrists, leaning forward to pin him to the mattress.

“Lie still, my brave, beautiful prince, and let me make love to you,” the elf commanded.

Imrahil could do nothing but groan his assent.

Moments later Legolas freed Imrahil’s arms and sat back, contemplating the prince’s naked body stretched out beneath him. He looked up and smiled sweetly at Imrahil for an instant, then turned his attention once more to the work of his hands. Up and down Imrahil’s chest they stroked, out to the sides and back to the middle, with a touch just light enough to make Imrahil shiver uncontrollably despite the heat. Palms, thumbs and fingertips made shapes on Imrahil’s skin as the elf shuffled slowly backwards, gradually shifting his focus downwards. 

When he reached Imrahil’s groin, Legolas strayed no lower. Instead he concentrated on varying his approach so as to keep the prince in an agony of suspense. Fingers played along the junction of leg and body, then moved to grasp his cock firmly as a thumb circled languidly at its tip. Just as Imrahil felt the beginnings of his orgasm, like a faint crescendo deep within, Legolas relinquished his hold. The back of the elf’s hand brushed lightly across Imrahil’s balls, and he moaned his frustration.

Legolas regarded him silently for a while, then shifted his weight onto one leg and tapped Imrahil's knee. "Open for me," he said softly.

Imrahil willingly complied, spreading his legs wide apart as Legolas settled between his thighs. The brazen exposure to his lover's gaze filled him with a delicious sense of vulnerability that only served to increase his excitement. He breathed deeply, rejoicing in the moment. Seconds later he was gasping and wriggling helplessly as the elf bent over him, soft hair tickling and tongue teasing in all the places where he was most sensitive. This sweet torture continued for a while, until Legolas replaced mouth with hands and sat back once more, the better to observe Imrahil's undoing. 

Some shred of pride led Imrahil to wait as long as he could, but eventually he was reduced to begging. “Ai, Legolas, give me my release! I cannot take much more of this!”

“No, my prince, not yet. Not until I am inside you,” Legolas replied. 

The words themselves were almost enough to push Imrahil beyond his limit. He lay in a delirium of frustrated delight, writhing unashamedly as Legolas continued to stroke his most tender flesh with the knuckles of one hand. The elf reached across for the jar that had a permanent place by Imrahil’s bed, and soon was putting its cool, creamy contents to good use. Newly slippery fingers were parting Imrahil’s buttocks and running up and down between them, and Imrahil was clutching his own knees, spreading them high and wide, desperately trying to open himself to his lover’s touch.

And then Legolas was easing his long, slender cock inside him, and Imrahil was crying out, “Yes! Yes! Oh...”

Even the simplest of words deserted him as Legolas lifted his hips and hauled them closer, shifting and changing his angle very deliberately. It did not take long for him to find the desired position, and Imrahil’s great shout must have told him of his success.

The pleasure was almost too intense to be borne. Each stab sent a shock of feeling through Imrahil that filled his eyes with tears and made him cry out once again. It was the most painfully wonderful sensation imaginable. Then Legolas reached to grasp his cock, pulling on it in time with his calculated movements, and Imrahil knew he could endure no more. He came in an almighty surge, gloriously aware of the elf's cock inside him and of his lover's eyes feasting upon him as he abandoned himself to rapture. 

Legolas held still until Imrahil's tremors subsided, and then, with a few murmured endearments and a half dozen sharp, almost painful thrusts, he too called out at his climax. Imrahil watched in awe as the elf's composure disintegrated, rapidly and completely. As always, the sight was enough to inspire in him a sense of incredulous joy.

It was only later, when Legolas moved to the side and Imrahil rolled over to face him, that the prince felt the pain in his back. The irritating twinge of the last few days had apparently developed into something rather more serious. Under the circumstances, it was hardly surprising. He tried not to show his discomfort, but Legolas had already noticed him wincing. 

"What is it, my prince? Have I hurt you?" The elf's voice was full of guilty concern.

Imrahil hastened to reassure his lover, and tried to move the conversation on to other matters. Legolas, however, was not to be deterred. "Turn onto your front, and I shall do what I can to help you," he insisted.

In truth, it was a great relief to lie face down, feeling the stretch in his spine; and Legolas's warm, confident touch on his back was a rich and sensual pleasure in its own right. Imrahil sighed happily, closed his eyes, and gave himself up to the experience.

Legolas took his time, stroking and kneading the muscles all across Imrahil’s back before concentrating on the area at the base of the spine where the ache was centred. At first Imrahil allowed himself to drift away into a pleasant state somewhere between waking and sleeping. When the elf’s careful, deep manipulation of the sore spot finally led him to open his eyes, he found that the morning light was filtering through the shutters into the room, and that the oil lamp had burnt itself out.

“Does that feel better?” Legolas murmured, bending down to kiss the back of Imrahil’s neck.

“Wonderful,” Imrahil replied. Were it not for the fact that the sheet felt unpleasantly damp below him, and that his sticky skin was in need of a bathe, he could happily have lain in the same spot for the rest of the day.

It seemed that Legolas had other ideas. His skilful hands, having worked their healing magic on Imrahil’s back, had wandered down to his buttocks. There they began to move in slow, firm circles, thumbs dipping further into the cleft between on each pass. It was not long before Imrahil was mirroring the motion with his hips, first pressing his rapidly hardening cock into the mattress, then pushing up against his lover’s authoritative touch. 

“So delicious,” Legolas said, after a time. “I have half a mind to take you again.”

“Yes!” Imrahil said at once, leaning on his elbows as he slid his knees forward and raised his rump off the bed. 

Legolas laughed, paused for a moment, then positioned himself between Imrahil’s legs. Imrahil made a sound that could only be called a whimper, as he felt the elf’s cock, hot and firm, rubbing against him. 

“Are you certain?” Legolas asked, backing away a little. “I cannot promise to be careful with you, not when you present such a tantalising prospect.” The question was surely academic; the elf’s fingers were already testing the entrance, pushing inside him, opening and preparing him. 

Imrahil rested his head on his arms, and managed only the one word, “Please.”

It was a slow fucking, and a thorough one. Imrahil let Legolas take complete control, and concentrated on enjoying every moment of extreme sensation. He could not have said which was the greater pleasure; the feeling of being repeatedly stretched and filled while the elf’s hand reached around and toyed with his bursting flesh, or the sheer knowledge of being so utterly and effectively mastered by his strong, passionate lover. 

Towards the end, Imrahil felt a sudden need to make his surrender explicit. “I am yours,” he gasped, as his whole body shook with the force of Legolas’s thrusts. “Completely yours.”

"Yes, completely mine." An arm around his waist pulled him up and back onto Legolas's lap. One of the elf's hands encircled his cock; the other brushed across his chest, gently squeezing first one nipple, then the other. Somehow, the thrusts continued in an unbroken rhythm and with devastating accuracy. "Mine to do with as I please," Legolas added, his own excitement evident in his voice.

Imrahil groaned and let his head fall back onto Legolas's shoulder. At once, the elf bent down and clamped his lips to Imrahil's neck, while pinching his nipple hard. Imrahil's yell must have been audible in the servants' quarters, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Matters were well and truly out of his control.

"Now, come with me now!" said Legolas urgently, tightening his hold.

The command was hardly necessary, for Imrahil was already exploding in a white-hot blend of pleasure and pain, sobbing wordlessly as the orgasm threatened to tear his body apart. Even in the midst of it, he heard Legolas crying his name, and recognised the moment of stillness that preceded the elf's own climax, then the deep, shuddering movements that followed.

Afterwards they lay quietly, arms wrapped closely around each other, in spite of the rising temperature and the sounds of morning all around them. For once, Imrahil had no need to wonder if his lover had been as affected as he by the intensity of their shared passion. Legolas was hiding nothing from him; he could feel the elf's contentment as clearly as his own.

"Have you any idea how much I love you?" Imrahil asked at last, after a long, slow kiss that was almost unbearably sweet.

"I know, and I thank the gods for such a blessing," Legolas murmured, combing the strands of damp hair back from Imrahil's face. "I am truly sorry that I shut myself away from you. I hope that I will have the sense to avoid such a mistake, next time."

"My only hope is that there is no next time. You have suffered far too much already," Imrahil replied promptly. He rolled a little closer to Legolas, and kissed him again. Let Brenhir wait at the breakfast table this morning, he thought, and let Neledhen hammer at the door. I would not allow Legolas to leave my arms at this moment if the King himself demanded my presence.

 

********************

 

Imrahil drew the curtain across the carriage window and rested a hand on Legolas’s thigh. He leaned in and kissed the elf softly on the lips.

“As a means of transport, this has definite advantages over a simple horse and saddle,” he said, inching his fingers up underneath Legolas’s tunic.

“Compose yourself, my prince,” said Legolas with a small smile. “This is a formal occasion; it would not do to arrive in a flustered condition.” He placed his hand over Imrahil’s to hold it still, but his thumb sought the sensitive spot on the inner wrist, nonetheless, and circled there.

“Formal? I sincerely hope not,” Imrahil said, momentarily distracted from his lust. “As I understood the invitation, we are to be the only guests. The appreciation of fine food is a serious business, but it does not call for undue formality.” 

Imrahil had liked Amer Bereshi, father of the councillor Teret, from the moment they had met at the inauguration ceremony. Like the prince himself, he seemed to be a man determined to enjoy life and all its simple pleasures. Imrahil’s rapturous commentary on the Haradin cuisine had led to the old man’s promise; before the northern visitors departed, they should dine at his house, and experience the best that his legendary cook could offer. Imrahil had been looking forward to the occasion, and it could not have come at a better moment. After the exhausting activity of the past few days, both he and Legolas deserved some time to relax and enjoy themselves.

“I hope you will remember that fine food and wines are best enjoyed in moderation,” Legolas was saying archly.

“Are you implying that I eat too much?” laughed Imrahil, running a hand over his belly. Maybe it was a little softer than it should be.

“You have been known to, shall we say, overindulge,” the elf replied. “I make no judgement; I am merely concerned that you should not return to the palace incapacitated in any way. I may have plans for the remainder of our evening.”

“Would they by any chance involve this?” Imrahil twisted his fingers out of Legolas’s grip and made a swift lunge for his groin. The elf batted his hand away, and a brief tussle ensued. Inevitably, the tussle led to a kiss, one which was far more than a mere touching of their lips. 

“You are incorrigible,” Legolas remarked when they drew apart.

“And your sweet smile can no longer convince me of your innocence,” Imrahil countered. “My wicked elf.”

Legolas gave a grin which made no such pretence. “I shall do my utmost to live up to that title, later on,” he said.

Imrahil leered, then rapidly adopted a harmless expression as the carriage drew to a halt. By the time the driver had descended to open their door, bowing low as he did so, both the prince and his lover had assumed the guise of models of royal decorum. They climbed out and gazed at the great gate before them.

Like all the traditional Haradin houses, this one hid its treasures on the inside and presented a plain, somewhat forbidding front to the world. It was clear, however, from the scale of the walls, the smoothness of their finish, and the fine carving around the door and windows, that this was a household of impressive wealth. 

The carriage driver knocked at the huge gate, and it swung back promptly to reveal Amer Bereshi himself waiting to greet them. Imrahil was relieved to see that he was simply dressed in robes of beige and brown, and his head was uncovered. He looked like a man welcoming friends to his home.

Although the old man’s appearance was relaxed, his courtesy was exquisite. He bowed respectfully before his guests and spoke in perfectly enunciated Westron. “My Lord Imrahil, Prince Legolas, you do me such great honour by visiting my home. An honour, may I say, that is only matched by the pleasure of your company.”

Imrahil nodded. “The pleasure is ours, I am sure, Amer Meddi.”

Legolas, as was by now his custom, greeted the man in Haradin and drew his usual delighted response. They walked across the courtyard, a beautifully constructed space with marble colonnades and a riot of lush vegetation. With the servants safely out of hearing, Imrahil said, “We really do appreciate your invitation. I, for one, have been eagerly anticipating this for days.”

Amer, sharp-witted as he was, picked up the prince’s signal at once, and dropped the elaborate courtesy. He smiled broadly. “My cook will not let you down, I am sure. He has prepared a veritable feast of specialities from the northwestern regions for your delectation. I assume that you are familiar with the food of the south, after your stay in S’fayyah.”

“You are most generous,” Legolas said. He stopped before a particularly impressive plant, its dark, waxy leaves a glorious contrast to the vivid pink of its enormous, trumpet-like flowers. “Now this is something we did not see on our travels,” he said admiringly. 

“No, it is not a desert plant,” Amer replied. 

After a few minutes discussing the various trees and shrubs on view, their host brought the subject around to a more weighty topic.

“We have good news from the southeast, I hear.”

Imrahil raised an eyebrow. “And you have excellent sources of information,” he said. Word of Nekhren Levardin’s capture had only reached the palace late that morning.

Amer laughed. “Of course I have. My business would not have grown to such an extent as this, otherwise,” he waved an arm in a broad gesture to include the courtyard and the elegant stonework around it. “I have placed my sources at the governor’s disposal, as you know, in these troubled days.”

“Indeed. Lord Brenhir sends his regards, and his apologies,” Imrahil said. “He hopes to accept your invitation on another occasion.” The governor was occupied with an emergency meeting of the new council of Umbar. Imrahil had declined the suggestion that he should also attend. At a time like this it was more important than ever that the people should see that Brenhir had Imrahil’s trust, and by implication, the King’s,

Amer nodded. “He has more pressing matters to attend to, I know. I hope he will lead the council in taking the strongest of stands against the traitors. Nekhren Levardin and his types are no friends of mine. If they were not abhorrent enough on moral grounds, their aspirations would still offend my merchant’s soul. Free trade with Gondor has trebled my family’s fortune in these past twelve years; I would willingly fight to preserve it.”

As he spoke, Amer led his visitors towards a smaller gate on the far side of the courtyard. Before they reached it, he stopped and said in a confidential tone, “I will confess now that I did not invite you here only to admire my cook. Perhaps you will be kind enough to forgive an old man’s foibles; I had good reason to be discreet. In fact, there is somebody I would like you to meet.”

With that, he opened the wrought iron gate and stepped aside with a bow, to let Imrahil and Legolas enter before him. 

The garden was utterly charming, a small, intimate space shaded by tall trees and filled with tubs of bright flowers. Its loveliness, however, was eclipsed by that of the woman who rose from her seat to greet them. 

She was dressed in simple, opulent clothes of dark pink silk that skimmed her perfectly proportioned body. The long tunic and loose trousers had borders of black and gold, and the theme continued to the few pieces of jewellery she wore. A small jet pendant hung on a delicate chain around her slender throat; plain gold adorned her long, tapered hands. This was a woman who had no need of gaudy finery to enhance her looks. A great fall of lustrous black hair slid over one of her shoulders, and her dusky, heart-shaped face was graced by enormous dark eyes and full, beautifully shaped lips.

The introduction was quite superfluous, but Amer performed it with an impressive flourish.

“May I present to you my very good friend, Zirri Almajarram.”

Legolas spoke first, while Imrahil was still recovering his wits. “Zirri, mediyella,” he said with a graceful bow, “Khediren me’eliyya.”

“T’reffen beshriyya, Rezeyikh Legolas,” she replied, falling into a deep curtsey. Her voice was low and melodic.

“I am afraid I do not have the skill to greet you in your own language,” Imrahil said, “so I must simply say that I am delighted to make your acquaintance.” He bowed, then raised his head to find Zirri’s eyes locked to his own.

“Neither my language nor yours has words to express my joy at meeting you both,” she replied. Her accent was the twin of Kallim’s; from her mouth it sounded enchanting. 

Amer cleared his throat. “Zirri, my dear, would you entertain my guests for a moment while I speak with my steward? My Lords, if you will forgive me -”

“Of course,” said Imrahil swiftly. 

Legolas and Imrahil seated themselves opposite Zirri. 

“Our host is as tactful as he is generous,” Imrahil observed. 

“Amer Meddi is a good man, and a true friend,” Zirri said. “He lives by his own rules, to my advantage, of course.”

“And to ours, it seems,” said Legolas with a radiant smile. 

Zirri gazed at him for a moment, her own lips curving, then turned back to Imrahil. “Kallim has told me so much. I had not imagined, nor could I have dared to hope, that I might have the opportunity to speak with you myself.”

“How is Kallim?” Imrahil asked. They had received word daily of Rekia’s slow recovery, but their young friend had said nothing of himself in the notes.

A cloud seemed to cover Zirri’s face. She looked from Imrahil to Legolas and back again. “You do not know,” she said.

Imrahil realised what was coming before she spoke the words. Had he not feared this very outcome?

“He and Gedrinel have fought, and have not seen each other since your return to the city. Kallim is inconsolable. He talks of leaving Umbar, but I do not think that he knows his own mind.” Zirri sighed, shook her head and regained her smile. “It will pass,” she said sadly. “But let us not speak of such matters now.”

“Then perhaps you will be so kind as to tell us of Rekia’s progress?” Legolas asked gently. 

“She grows stronger by the day, but it will be many months before the damage truly heals,” Zirri said. “The scars are deep, as you will understand, Prince Legolas. Rekia has told me what you did for her.”

“I did what I could,” said Legolas simply. “I am only thankful that you were able to take Rekia in and offer her the help she needs.”

They talked for a while of Rekia’s happiness at being reunited with Meh’ten, and of the herbs Zirri was using to treat her. Legolas, of course, was fascinated by the descriptions of unfamiliar plants, while Zirri spoke with the passion of a true healer. Imrahil was reminded fleetingly of Aragorn.

After a time their discussion moved on to more general matters, with Amer returning to join them at the table. Shortly after, the first course arrived, and Imrahil discovered that the old man’s claims for his cook had been no overstatement. Every mouthful was as delightful as the witty, wide-ranging conversation that flowed easily throughout the afternoon. 

It was obvious that Zirri was a regular guest at Amer’s table; there was genuine affection between them, and no hint of anything more commercial. Indeed, had he not known of Zirri’s profession, Imrahil would never have guessed it. She was every inch a woman of culture and intellectual acuity, with none of the irritatingly exaggerated deference that was rife among the lords and ladies of Umbar. 

In short, Zirri was charming company, and when she announced that it was time for her to leave, all three of her companions were quick to express their regret.

“I am going to presume to ask a promise of you,” said Imrahil on a sudden whim, as he stood to bid Zirri farewell.

She did not lower her eyes, but met his gaze directly. “Ask as you will, My Lord,” she said with a smile. “I doubt that I shall find your request presumptuous.”

“When our friend is recovered, will you bring her north to Dol Amroth, to visit us?” 

Her eyes widened then, but she retained her composure. “You would receive us at the palace?”

Amer laughed. “Of course he would, my dear. Being Prince, he can do as he pleases.” 

“Yes, that is the nature of my invitation,” said Imrahil. 

“Then I should be deeply honoured to accept.”

Once Zirri had left, Legolas and Imrahil accepted Amer’s offer of another glass of brandy before calling for their own carriage. Inevitably, they spoke of Zirri.

“I have known her since she arrived in the city,” Amer said. “She was lovely then, but heartbroken at leaving her family. It was the usual story, of course; a marriage she could not accept, and this the only alternative. She has made a good life for herself, but still she suffers.”

Imrahil thought of Brenhir’s heartless words: “A whore’s a whore, when all’s said and done,” and felt himself frowning. “Am I right in thinking that you chose this day deliberately, in order that Brenhir would not be with us?” he asked suddenly. 

“Of course,” Amer replied smoothly. “I could hardly have introduced you to Zirri, had he been here.”

“Having met her, I find it hard to imagine why he should be so disapproving,” Imrahil said.

“Ah, of course you do not know. She would never speak of it, and nor would Kallim. He’s an impetuous boy, but fiercely loyal to his aunt.”

Imrahil stared at his host, waiting for clarification.

“Many years have passed since the governor himself visited Zirri; nonetheless, I am certain that he would still go to great lengths to stop Lady Mariel finding out.”

And that should have been the obvious explanation from the start, Imrahil thought, as he savoured the last mouthful of fine liquor. In any case, the solution to the minor mystery brought the meal to a natural end. 

As the carriage pulled away from Amer Bereshi’s gate, Imrahil gave a great, satisfied sigh, and leaned into Legolas’s shoulder. 

“Wonderful,” he pronounced. 

“The food, or the company?

“Both. I do not believe I have ever met a lovelier woman,” Imrahil said.

Legolas bent his head to lick Imrahil’s ear. “Should I be jealous?” he asked, his voice rich with laughter. “You appear to be thoroughly enamoured.”

Imrahil brought his lover’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. “What do you think?”

Legolas’s hand transferred itself to Imrahil’s neck, and slid inside his tunic. “I think,” said the elf slowly, “that you should take me to bed and demonstrate your fidelity to me, at least three times before the morning.”

Imrahil laughed and turned towards Legolas, pressing their bodies together. “And I think you are absolutely right,” he said.

 

********************

Amer Meddi: Honorific title.

Zirri, mediyella, khediren me’eliyya.: Zirri, my lady, I am happy to meet you.

T’reffen beshriyya, Rezeyikh Legolas,: And I to meet you, Prince Legolas


	17. Chapter 17

Gedrinel stood on the main-deck and cast a critical eye about him. Try as he might to find fault, he had to admit that the Silver Lynx was in fine shape.

Every inch of visible wood was polished and gleaming, and the metalwork shone in the bright noonday sun. The sails were neatly furled, but Gedrinel did not need to see the canvas spread to know that it was clean, patched, and carefully stitched. He had ordered the rigging taken down twice in the past three days before it met with his approval.

The ship was sitting low in the water, her holds packed full of newly acquired goods. Brass, leather, spices and silks were Gedrinel’s usual cargo. He’d added to them a consignment of fancy wooden carvings, very fashionable in the north, and a half dozen crates of gems and trinkets. His finances had been stretched to the limit in the process, but Gedrinel judged it to be a worthwhile investment. After all, it would be some time before he returned to this accursed city.

The crew were no less well turned out than the ship. Barbered and scrubbed, their clothes freshly laundered, every man jack of them looked presentable enough to appear before the royal passengers in the morning. The sense of order continued below decks. Hammocks were stowed and each man’s belongings confined to his sea chest in a tidy fashion. The galley was spotless, the cabins immaculate. Weevil-infested stores had been thrown over the side and fresh provisions purchased. Even the ship’s cat, an aloof and overfed beast, had been groomed.

All this Gedrinel knew with certainty, for he had spent the better part of the week haranguing his men to get it done.

The crew were, unsurprisingly, treading carefully around their captain, and watching him surreptitiously when they thought he was unaware. He’d caught the sideways glances, and heard the conversations fade to silence in an instant at his approach. No doubt they were all quite familiar with the cause of his bleak mood. Gedrinel had resigned himself to that fact at the outset; he knew only too well that there was no such thing as a secret in a harbour town. So, he’d not only made a complete fool of himself, he’d done it for all the world and his men to see. It was a wonder that any of them were still prepared to take his orders. 

“Captain Gedrinel, sir?” The first mate’s tone was unusually deferential.

“Yes, what is it, Tamás?”

“The men, sir. They’re asking about today’s orders. A number of them are keen to go up to the palace.”

Naturally they’d send Tamás to ask on their behalf. Of all of them, he was the only one with the balls to stand up to Gedrinel.

“Of course they are,” Gedrinel said irritably. It was the trial of the century, without a doubt, and the whole of Umbar would be jostling to get in. He thought for a moment, crossing items off a list in his head. In all honesty, he’d worked the crew harshly for days, and there was nothing of any importance yet to be done. Perhaps it was time to regain a little good will. 

“Very well. Half a dozen of your strongest to stay and guard the ship, and the rest may take the afternoon. All hands on board by an hour after sundown, and please warn them clearly, twenty lashes for any man returning in his cups.”

“Thank you, Captain. The men will appreciate it.” Tamás cleared his throat before continuing, “And you, sir?”

“What do you mean, and me?” Gedrinel snapped.

Tamás was not deterred. “Will you take some rest, sir? There’s none here that would wish to see you sick.”

“You worry about the men, Master Tamás, and let me take care of myself,” Gedrinel growled. “I have my plans for the afternoon, you can be sure.”

Indeed he had a plan, an unsophisticated one, but no less effective for that. There was nobody to haul him over the capstan and give him a flogging for his behaviour, and he’d just about exhausted his stock of self control.

Gedrinel intended to spend the rest of the day getting utterly, mind-numbingly drunk.

 

********************

 

The tavern - one of the city’s more discreet establishments - was uncommonly quiet, a fact that Gedrinel noted with a grim smile. He chose a table in the gloomiest part of the room and settled himself in the furthest corner. When the serving man glided over, Gedrinel ordered a flagon of local red, and, as an afterthought, some grilled chicken for form’s sake. There was something to be said for the unobtrusive approach of the staff in Haradin drinking dens. No ‘How are you today, sir?’, no ‘Not off at the palace with everybody else, enjoying the show?’ Just quick and efficient service, and someone to fill the jug whenever it was empty.

The first glass went down smoothly before the chicken arrived. Some remnant of good sense must have guided Gedrinel into taking the second slowly while he picked at the food. He was pouring the third into his goblet when the shadow falling across the table caused him to look up.

“Is this a private occasion, or may I join you for a while?” 

Prince Legolas!” said Gedrinel, astonished. After a moment he regained his wits and gestured at the chair opposite. “Yes, yes, of course.”

“Thank you.” Legolas sat, and pushed the hood back from his face. His hair, though modestly braided, seemed to catch every shred of light in the place. He gazed at Gedrinel with the faintest of smiles.

“You are not at the palace,” Gedrinel said stupidly.

“So it would seem.”

“I’m surprised. I’d have thought you would want to...”

Legolas sighed. “Quite the contrary. I was present for much of Nekhren Levardin’s interrogation, and as a consequence, I have no wish to hear any more of his despicable words. Once he realised that the evidence was weighted against him, he did not spare us his opinions.”

“The bastard,” said Gedrinel with feeling. “I hope they hang him.”

“I imagine that it is a certainty. There can be no doubt that he was the ringleader of the plot to kill the King.”

“I met him once, you know,” said Gedrinel suddenly.

“You did?”

“Yes. At the gymnasium. With Kallim.”

“Ah.”

They sat quietly for a moment, then the elf leaned forward. “Would it be impolite of me to ask for a glass of wine?” he said. “I have the price of another flagon in my belt.”

“Of course, I am sorry,” said Gedrinel quickly, heartily embarrassed. He raised his hand and signalled to the serving man, who was at the table in an instant, goblet at the ready.

Legolas sipped his drink and murmured his appreciation, but did not seem inclined to initiate any further conversation. It fell to Gedrinel to break the silence.

“So, what brings you here?” he said awkwardly.

“Not coincidence, naturally. I came looking for you.”

“And how did you know where I’d be?”

“One of your crew was kind enough to tell me, when I called first at the Lynx,” Legolas said.

“Scurvy knaves, the lot of them! Are they following me?”

Legolas smiled. “I rather had the impression that they are greatly concerned for your well-being. Were the wine to affect you badly, you would not find yourself stumbling in the street.”

“You’re telling me they’re out there now?” Gedrinel said incredulously, waving an arm towards the door.

“No, the men in question were happy to relinquish their responsibility to me, and have taken themselves off to the palace with their shipmates. And no, I have no intention of telling you their names.” 

Gedrinel, mortified, could feel his cheeks flushing hot. Was he to be treated like a child by all those around him, just to complete his humiliation? 

“It is greatly to your credit that your men care about you so much,” Legolas said gently.

Gedrinel coughed behind his hand and took another swig of his wine. “Is Prince Imrahil well?” he asked, for want of a better diversion. 

“Very well, although he longs for an end to this business, of course. Fascinating as this visit has been, we will both be happy to put to sea tomorrow.”

“And yourself?” Gedrinel said tentatively. “You seem much recovered.”

“Indeed I am.” Legolas gave him a searching look. “I discovered that my burden was greatly eased by sharing it with another.”

“And that is why you are here, I suppose.” The wine was already loosening Gedrinel’s tongue.

“In part; I shall not attempt to deny that. However, my motive in seeking you out was not entirely selfless. I too am in need of company today.” 

Gedrinel was surprised by the elf’s tone as much as by his words. It occurred to him that he had been wrong to assume that Legolas had fully recovered from his ordeal in S’fayyah. There was still pain behind those blue eyes, and quantities of it.

“Imrahil and I attended a most interesting lunch two days ago,” Legolas was saying, “in the house of Amer Bereshi. Do you know him?” 

“I have had dealings with him. He’s a sharp character.” 

“So he is, and along with an excellent cook, he has charming friends. He introduced us to Zirri Almajarram.” Legolas reached for the flagon, and poured first for Gedrinel before refilling his own goblet.

“You met Zirri!” 

“Yes. She is a most delightful woman, as intelligent as she is beautiful.”

“Well, that’s certainly true. She must have told you how Rekia is faring?” Gedrinel had longed for news, but had not found a way to seek it.

“She is making good progress, it seems. Zirri is clearly a gifted healer.”

“The gods be praised.” Gedrinel rested his goblet on the table and stared at it as he turned it in his hands. Then he raised his eyes and said, “You also spoke of Kallim, no doubt. Did she ask you to talk to me about him?”

“I doubt that she would be so indiscreet,” said Legolas smoothly. “I am here of my own accord.”

Gedrinel nodded.

“Zirri did of course tell us that the two of you have had a disagreement, and that Kallim is deeply upset; inconsolable, to use her word.”

“Is he?” Gedrinel asked bitterly.

“It would be a great shame if your friendship could not overcome this hurdle,” Legolas said, ignoring the question. “You seemed well suited, and content with each other’s company.”

“It’s better this way,” Gedrinel mumbled, avoiding Legolas’s eye.

“Is it really? Kallim is heartbroken, and you are obviously unhappy.”

Gedrinel shook his head, at a loss for an answer.

“I know that it is your affair, and none of mine, but would it not perhaps help to talk of what has happened?” Legolas sat back in his chair and regarded the captain steadily.

“What is there to say? We had a disagreement, we parted, and our friendship is over.”

“Surely it takes more than a single disagreement to end a friendship, especially one which has grown in the course of a journey such as ours?”

“Even if I wished to salvage it, I doubt that Kallim would want to know. I said unforgivable things to him.” Gedrinel’s stomach clenched at the mere memory of it.

“I think you might be surprised. Do not underestimate the strength of Kallim’s feelings for you. If you were to approach him in the spirit of reconciliation, I doubt that he would refuse to talk to you.”

“I am not so sure.”

Legolas ran a finger around the rim of his glass. “In my experience, it is never wise to turn love away where it is honestly offered,” he observed.

“What makes you think that we are speaking of love?” said Gedrinel sharply.

“You think that we are not?”

“I think it is easy to mistake lust for love.”

“The two are not mutually exclusive. My life would be considerably less rich if that were the case,” said Legolas with a faint shadow of a grin. “Is it because Kallim is male that you cannot accept his affection?”

Gedrinel recovered from his astonishment at the elf’s innuendo to stutter, “No, I... at first, I might have said so, but the last four weeks would have convinced me otherwise. It’s not that.”

“Then was it the revelation of his intimacy with Nekhren Levardin that caused your disagreement?”

“Oh, I already knew about that,” Gedrinel said with a grimace. “Nekhren himself spelled it out for me when we met. I loathed the man on sight. Once I learned what he really was, I couldn’t bear the knowledge that he had been with Kallim.”

“I wonder how Kallim himself must feel about his liaison with Nekhren. He must have been so very young, and terribly vulnerable. If you despise him for it, imagine how he must feel about himself.” Legolas spoke gently, but his eyes were piercing.

“I don’t despise him, although I’m quite sure he believes that I do,” said Gedrinel miserably.

“Then perhaps you should tell him that you do not.”

“I cannot speak to him.”

The elf placed his goblet on the table and leaned forward. “What is it that you fear, Gedrinel?”

“Fear?”

“It is quite obvious to me that only fear prevents you from going to Kallim and apologising to him.”

“Are you looking into my mind?”

“Indeed no, I would not attempt to do such a thing without your consent. In any case, it is not necessary. Any friend who cared about you would say the same thing.”

Gedrinel stared at Legolas for a moment. Then, made bold by the wine, he spoke his thoughts aloud. “I am astounded that you should take so direct an interest. I might have expected it from Prince Imrahil -”

“But not from me.” Legolas finished for him. “You must not think that because I am not of your kind I am not concerned for you. I have grown fond of both you and Kallim, and my only desire is to see the pair of you happy. Do my questions offend you?”

“No, but I find it difficult to give you answers when I’m not aware of them myself.”

“Then perhaps I should be more specific. Do you fear the world’s reaction to your relationship with Kallim?”

“Not that of the world. Of my men, maybe.”

“But the Lynx is your ship, you are its captain, and the crew are loyal to you. They would learn to accept Kallim soon enough.” Coming from Legolas, it sounded like a perfectly reasonable argument.

“Prince Imrahil said much the same thing.”

“Because it is the truth. If you had chosen to take Kallim to sea with you, you would not have let anyone’s opinion stop you. But that is not the heart of the matter, is it?”

Gedrinel stared down at his glass, then back up at Legolas. 

“It is not that you doubt Kallim’s affection for you,” the elf continued, in a quiet yet compelling tone. “Rather, it is your feelings for him that you cannot accept. The argument about Nekhren simply gave you an excuse to push Kallim away.”

“What makes you say that?” Even as he asked the question, Gedrinel realised that the elf had spoken the truth.

“It is not so difficult to recognise.” Legolas contemplated his hands for a moment, then looked up with a strange smile. “When my heart first told me that I loved a mortal man, I tried hard not to listen. I pushed him away at every possible opportunity, and our friendship would have ended, had he not had the courage to confront me, and to force me to accept the facts.”

There was a melancholy ring to the elf’s voice that puzzled Gedrinel for a second, until he understood that the man concerned was not Imrahil. “You?” he said disbelievingly, “I had always imagined that elves were not such fools as men.”

Legolas laughed, and his sorrowful air vanished. “You would be surprised, my friend. This elf, at least, has proved himself to be utterly foolish when it comes to matters of the heart - on more than one occasion.”

Gedrinel found the notion somewhat improbable, but comforting nevertheless. “I cannot speak of my feelings when I have no idea what they are,” he said after a moment’s pause.

“Think back to the morning when Kallim and I returned from S’fayyah, when he leapt from his horse and ran into your waiting arms. How did you feel then?”

The joy and relief had been almost overwhelming. Gedrinel had wanted to hold Kallim so tightly, had wanted his kisses to speak for him when he could find no words. Remembering, he felt a treacherous prickling sensation in his eyelids, and looked away.

“Let us not talk of love, since the word disturbs you,” Legolas continued. “Let us simply say that you are fond of Kallim, you desire him and he adores you. Why, then, should you not find some happiness together?”

Gedrinel shared the last of the flagon between his goblet and the elf’s, and gestured to the serving man for another. Before speaking, he took a deep draught of the rich, smoky wine and felt it warming the back of his throat. He wasn’t yet inebriated, but the drink was beginning to affect him. It was as if the space inside his head had expanded, and words he would not normally dream of uttering were gathering there.

“The man I become when I am with him is not the man I want to be,” he said at last.

Legolas looked perplexed. “A lover of men?” he asked.

“No, not that. I told you, that isn’t it.”

Legolas waited, his eyes asking the question. 

Once again, Gedrinel found he had to look away. “My father was a violent man, and my mother lived in fear of him,” he said suddenly, then paused for another mouthful of wine. “He had a strange compulsion to control everyone around him. Not that it made him happy, of course. He died a miserable and lonely man, and I cannot forgive him to this day.”

“And you fear that by being with Kallim, you will somehow become more like him.”

Gedrinel scratched his neck and shifted his gaze to the screen beyond the table. The elf was right, of course, but Gedrinel could hardy admit it. How could he possibly speak of the powerful rush of emotion, beyond simple pleasure, that he’d experienced with Kallim? The way he’d felt so strong, so alive, as Kallim submitted to him with rapturous enthusiasm – so deliciously willing in defeat – and writhed beneath the crop, begging for more. Even if he could say it, how could he expect Legolas, of all people, to understand?

“The roles we assume in the throes of passion do not necessarily reflect the reality of our lives,” Legolas said carefully, after a long silence. “In fact, it seems that quite often, the reverse is true; for what is fantasy but a release from the everyday?”

For a moment Gedrinel was shocked out of his embarrassment, and stared at the elf, stupefied. Then he felt his cheeks burning as he recalled the nights at the inn in S’fayyah, and Legolas with his elven hearing lying sleepless two rooms away, as Imrahil had told him directly.

“Such games need not make us into monsters, so long as both partners are happy,” the elf said.

Gedrinel took refuge in his glass. “It’s not just about games,” he managed after a while. “Kallim seems to want me to dominate him. He pushes me into it, even when I do not wish it.”

Legolas gazed at him with a sorrowful expression. “Oh, Gedrinel, my friend,” he said sadly. “Has it not occurred to you that Kallim may simply be trying to hold on to your affection in the only way he knows? He is so young, and for all his assumed sophistication, he is desperate to be loved. Have you tried taking the lead, and offering him tenderness?”

The stinging in Gedrinel’s eyes returned, and this time it threatened to spill over into something worse. He stared fixedly down at the table as he reached for the flagon. Then he stopped, with his fingers wrapped around the handle, as Legolas placed a hand on his wrist to restrain him. The elf’s touch, although oddly cool, had a most alarming effect; Gedrinel’s skin seemed to be vibrating, all the way up his arm. In an instant, the ludicrous improbability of his situation struck him. Here he was in a Haradin tavern, discussing his feelings for a beautiful southern boy with the elf prince of Ithilien. He might have laughed, had he not become aware that Legolas was speaking.

“May I suggest that there is a better remedy for your pain?” the elf was saying.

Gedrinel looked up at him helplessly. “You’re going to advise me to talk to Kallim. I can’t do it. You don’t know the things I said to him.”

“Did you mean them?”

“No, of course I didn’t.”

“Then surely it would be kinder to tell him that, rather than letting him believe that you think badly of him.” The elf still held his wrist, and spoke in a soothing, almost hypnotic tone.

“If I leave it, he might be encouraged to put me from his mind,” Gedrinel said, attempting to convince himself.

“I very much doubt that. One’s first love is not forgotten so easily.”

“Oh, gods.” He could see Kallim now, rigid with pain and anger, with that heartbreakingly empty look on his face.

“Speak to him, Gedrinel.” Legolas squeezed his wrist gently, then released it and sat back in his chair.

“But I cannot go back there. He was right to throw me out.”

“He threw you out of the house?” Legolas said, his eyebrow raised.

“Why do you smile?”

“That does not strike me as the action of a man who is easily dominated.”

Gedrinel pondered this for a moment, but could see no flaw in the elf’s logic. “You must think me a poor excuse for a man,” he said finally, shaking his head.

“No, I think that you have very real concerns, which you might do well to share with your partner in future.”

“I still don’t think I can see him...” Gedrinel floundered. “I could send him a note, I suppose,” he added dubiously.

“It would be a great deal better than nothing.”

“I’m not sure what I’d say.”

“Only what is in your heart,” suggested Legolas gently.

“It’s still complicated. It won’t be an easy letter to write,” Gedrinel said gloomily.

Legolas smiled at him, a warm and reassuring smile. “Naturally it will not,” he said, “but if all else fails, I am certain that the words, ‘I am sorry’ will suffice.”

 

********************

 

Gedrinel squinted up at the sun and admitted to himself that he could not delay any longer. Imrahil and Legolas must not be kept waiting, for nothing but a fool’s hope. Trying to ignore the sickly churning in his belly, he scanned the dockside one last time; but amongst the mayhem he saw no sign of a last minute messenger. He closed his eyes for a moment and cursed himself roundly. Surely he had not expected anything different? He had taken long enough to contact Kallim, and would not have done so at all if it hadn’t been for Legolas’s intervention. Even then his brief and inadequate note, completed on the fourth tortuous attempt, was unlikely to have inspired an immediate response. If Kallim was going to write at all, the letter might not reach him for months. He would just have to live with the fact.

Making a conscious effort to square his shoulders, Gedrinel strode across the deck to join Renúil at the starboard rail. 

“Hardly a breath,” Gedrinel remarked to his navigator, a solid man who’d been with him since the early days.

“Aye, Cap’n. A long haul we’ll have of it,” Renúil replied.

They talked quietly of the ship and the voyage that lay ahead. There was nothing new to be said, but the conversation itself was calming. Gedrinel allowed himself a few moments of this comfort before regretfully nodding the signal to Tamás and taking his position at the helm. 

A commotion down on the nearest spur of the quayside caught the captain's eye, and he paused for a moment to watch the drama unfold. Two men, their carts piled high with crates and bales, had reached a deadlock in the middle of the road, with neither willing to give way to the other. As usual, a crowd had gathered, and the onlookers were joining in with great enthusiasm. Jeers, curses and unwelcome advice could be clearly heard, even from the bridge. It was a scene entirely typical of the Umbar docks.

As Gedrinel stood motionless, unwilling to turn from this last glimpse of Haradin life, the bickering men apparently reached an accommodation. One cart backed off and manoeuvred round to the side of the other, and the throng began to disperse. Eventually the second cart pulled away unsteadily, and Gedrinel's heart missed several beats as the figure behind it came into view.

Standing beside a large wooden chest, dressed in plain, sensible clothes and with his hair neatly tied back from his face, was Kallim. His back was very straight, his head held high. His eyes met Gedrinel's at once, but his solemn expression did not change. 

Time stopped for Gedrinel as he stared down at Kallim, and a thousand thoughts chased each other through his head too swiftly for him to pin them down. It was a while before he realised that the ship had fallen uncannily silent. A glance left and right was enough to show him why. Every one of his men was frozen in place, gazing at the captain, or at Kallim, or shifting his attention rapidly from one to the other. 

The half-suppressed smirk on Tamás’s face brought Gedrinel back to his senses. Whatever his reservations, he could not bring himself to crush Kallim’s hopes a second time. It was perfectly clear what he had to do.

“Well, you lousy lubbers,” he roared, “Are you intending to stand around idly all day, while Prince Imrahil wonders what has become of his royal transport? Dirgan, your crew to their places, if you please, and Master Tamás, get two men down there, double quick, to bring Kallim Meddi’s belongings aboard.”

Kallim embarked confidently, showing no fear of the plank; a good sign in a novice sailor. Gedrinel stood by to meet him and placed a hand on his shoulder, being careful not to let it linger. “Welcome,” he said stiffly. “It’s good to have you aboard.”

Kallim nodded. “I hope this is appropriate,” he said seriously, indicating the chest.

“Yes, of course. Take it directly to the larboard cabin,” Gedrinel added to the men heaving the luggage onto the deck. He looked back at Kallim and found that the southerner was regarding him intently, his face set. It struck Gedrinel suddenly that Kallim was desperately anxious, and that he should have realised it at once. What else could be expected? Kallim had turned up at the dockside, packed and ready to sail, on the strength of Gedrinel’s pathetic excuse for a letter and with the memory of their bitter parting still vivid in his mind. Not every man would have had the courage to take such a risk. 

With so many pairs of eyes upon them, there was nothing Gedrinel could offer in the way of reassurance except for a smile. “We sail first for the Royal Pier, to collect our passengers,” he said.

“Naturally.” Kallim’s features seemed to relax a little. 

“I shall be largely occupied, along with the rest of the crew, until we’re out of the bay and into the open water,” Gedrinel continued apologetically. “After that, we will be able to discuss the... the terms of your passage.” 

Kallim nodded again. “I understand. Perhaps I should take a look at the cabin? I shall not get under your feet.”

“Very well. Neveren! Show Kallim Meddi to the larboard cabin.” The cabin boy scampered over in an instant, his face alight with curiosity. He was obviously enjoying the show as much as any of them.

Left to themselves, Gedrinel’s eyes would have followed Kallim’s retreating figure every step of the way. He forced himself to turn back to the business of setting sail, with his expression as stern as he could make it. 

The short journey to the Royal Pier was smooth and uneventful, but Gedrinel knew quite well that he had to be seen to remain on deck, however badly he wanted to be elsewhere. His crew needed to know that as far as his command of the ship was concerned, nothing had changed. Their sideways glances no longer held cautious concern; instead it seemed that every man aboard was trying hard to suppress a grin. The first mate, in particular, was having trouble keeping a straight face. Gedrinel doubted that his stifled glee was solely due to happiness for his captain. Knowing Tamás, he probably had a wager on the outcome of the affair.

It was a great relief to see Imrahil and Legolas standing on the pier with their simple packs, and a rather less modest crowd of well-wishers waiting to see them off. The bulk of the palace staff were keeping a respectful distance, while the governor and his family stood to the front with the royal pair. As they drew closer, Gedrinel could see that the ridiculous Farongil was fawning over Legolas with his mother looking on fondly, and Brenhir was deep in conversation with Imrahil to the end. 

The embarkation proceeded without incident, and Gedrinel greeted his friends with heartfelt warmth beneath the veneer of formality.

“I was beginning to wonder if you had left for Dol Amroth without us,” Imrahil said good-naturedly, once the Lynx began to pull away.

“My apologies, Sire,” said Gedrinel. He cleared his throat. “Kallim is here.”

“Kallim? That is wonderful news!” Imrahil laughed delightedly, and clapped Gedrinel on the back hard enough to make him wince. “Where is he hiding?” 

“In his cabin. I suspect he’s keeping out of sight until we’re away.” Gedrinel tipped his head towards Brenhir’s party by way of explanation, then glanced at Legolas. The elf made no comment, but his beaming smile spoke volumes.

Once they had put a respectable gap between themselves and the pier, Imrahil sent Nev to bring Kallim out on deck, and there was a loud and cheerful reunion. The trio settled themselves on the foredeck while Gedrinel remained at the wheel. From his position on the bridge he had an uninterrupted view of Kallim’s exaggerated gestures, and could hear the laughter and exclamations. He struggled to maintain an outward appearance of calm, despite the painful tension in his gut and the thumping of his heart.

Only when the Lynx had passed through the narrow craggy straits and emerged onto a gloriously sunlit sea did Gedrinel step aside, leaving the helm to Renúil. He strode down to join his passengers, aware of his audience holding its collective breath, and turned first to Imrahil. 

“Is there anything you require, My Lord?” he asked.

Imrahil grinned broadly and waved an arm at the endless vista before them. “What more could anyone need?” he said.

“Prince Legolas?” Gedrinel nodded to the elf.

“I am perfectly content, thank you,” replied Legolas softly, his eyes sparkling.

“Very well, then. Master Kallim, I will see you now in the Great Cabin, if you please.”

Gedrinel entered the cabin and waited for the southerner to follow him. He closed the door, debated locking it, realised that there was no chance of anyone disturbing them, and turned to face Kallim. He felt monstrously awkward and his mouth was dry, and on this occasion Kallim was not offering him any help. Uncertain how to broach the most pressing issue, he tackled the practicalities instead.

“With the exception of royalty, the Lynx doesn’t carry passengers,” he began, meeting Kallim’s gaze. “If you’re going to sail with us, I’ll expect you to learn enough to make yourself useful on deck in foul weather, or when we’re a few hands short. For the rest, I’ve taken on a new cargo, wooden carvings, gemstones, silver; I need an agent to offload it for me, and to pick up some similar fancy goods for the return journey. Careful accounting will be needed. Your share will be fifteen percent of the profit, to be reviewed in six month’s time; and you may undertake your own trading pursuits to the limit of what you can carry in your sea-chest. In addition you’ll be fed and have your ration of grog with the rest of the men.”

Kallim nodded gravely. “It seems a fair arrangement,” he said. “I accept your terms.”

“There is one thing you must understand. Life on a ship has its own set of rules, and they must be followed without question. The captain’s word is final. Challenge me in public, and you’ll find yourself flogged and put ashore at the next port.”

“I do understand, Captain. I won’t show you up in front of your men.”

Gedrinel stared at Kallim, standing so bravely before him, his pride and dignity unscathed despite his anxiety. Something constricting in the region of Gedrinel’s heart seemed to give way, and he took a step closer.

“Kallim,” he said, in a very different tone, “I am sorry.”

“I know you are. I would not be here, otherwise,” Kallim said solemnly.

“I spoke in anger, and said things I did not mean.”

“Are you certain of that? Gedrinel, I cannot change the past, and nor will I apologise for it. If you cannot accept what I am, it would be better for you to tell me now. Only, do not insult me in such a way again, or I shall be demanding to be put ashore at the next port.”

“And you would be quite right,” Gedrinel agreed miserably. How many ways did he need to find to say that he was sorry? 

“I admit that there are episodes of which I am not particularly proud. They are behind me now, and things have changed since I met you. If I have your affection, I promise you that I will let no other man near me. Can you trust me when I say that?” 

It struck Gedrinel that Kallim had probably rehearsed this speech, as he delivered it without pause in such a determined manner. His eyes never left Gedrinel’s throughout, and his hands remained curled into fists by his sides. 

Gedrinel took a deep breath and replied simply, “Yes.”

Kallim’s face softened, and his hands relaxed. He stared at Gedrinel for a long moment before speaking. “Well then,” he said at last, “Are you planning to stare at me like a hungry jackal for the rest of the day, or are you going to kiss me?”

This is the man I had feared I might dominate? thought Gedrinel fleetingly, as his nerves began to sing. I am a far bigger fool than I had imagined. He swallowed the words, ‘Come here,’ and instead made the move himself. 

If the first touch of their lips lit a fire in Gedrinel’s belly, the press of Kallim’s body against his fanned it to a flame that rapidly consumed any lingering doubts. He had intended to take it slowly, to offer tenderness, as Legolas had suggested; but Kallim’s muffled groan as he leaned into Gedrinel’s embrace was enough to dispel that notion. And yet, in the midst of his overpowering lust, Gedrinel felt something else: a rising, spreading joy and an enormous sense of relief.

Pulling away a little, Gedrinel fumbled with the ties that held Kallim’s hair back. Once it was free, he raked his fingers through its thick, dark mass then laced them behind Kallim’s head. He nuzzled at Kallim’s ear, licking and sucking at it until the southerner moaned. 

“By the gods, Kallim,” Gedrinel said gruffly.

“I know, I have missed you too. Has it really only been a week?” Kallim slid both hands down Gedrinel’s sides, around his waist and further, splaying them across his backside. He arched into Gedrinel’s hips and began a slow side-to-side motion that made Gedrinel’s heart hammer painfully in his chest. The captain bit his lip to stop the groan escaping as the friction against his cock escalated his desire to an urgent degree.

“What do you want of me, now that I’m here on your ship and under your command?” said Kallim wickedly, digging his fingers into the flesh of Gedrinel’s behind.

Gedrinel eyed the map chest, recalling his fantasy in glorious detail. “You can start by taking off your trousers and boots,” he said. He extricated himself from Kallim’s arms somewhat regretfully, and went to the door. It might be a small risk, he thought as he turned the key, but it’s one I can’t afford to take.

He watched as Kallim bent to remove his footwear and slid his trousers off. Before the southerner could start on the long tunic that covered him to the knee, Gedrinel took his arm and guided him to the great wooden coffer. 

Gedrinel stood behind Kallim for a while, holding him close, rubbing against his muscular rump, and running firm hands across his chest and down over the hard length of his cock. He waited until Kallim was gasping, then spoke directly into his ear, “We’ll have to keep quiet. Do you think you can manage that?”

“I’ll try,” Kallim replied breathlessly.

“Bend over, then.”

Kallim obeyed without hesitation, and Gedrinel slid trembling hands beneath the hem of his tunic. He pushed it up slowly, revealing little by little the succulent flesh that had been haunting his dreams. He grasped with both hands at Kallim’s rounded buttocks, squeezing and spreading them, then stopped and muttered a curse.

“What is it?” Kallim asked.

“I don’t have anything -”

“I do,” Kallim said at once. “It’s one thing I’d never travel without.” He rolled to one side and searched through the rumpled folds of his tunic, eventually producing a tiny vial. “There’s more in the chest in my cabin,” he commented as Gedrinel took the bottle from his hand. 

Kallim was not the only one struggling to remain silent as Gedrinel entered him. It could have been Gedrinel’s first time, the feeling was so painfully intense. He started with a slow, regular rhythm that matched the slight yawing motion of the ship, and stared down, fascinated, at his own cock vanishing and reappearing over and again. Kallim was shifting against the wide wooden surface, pushing up against Gedrinel’s thrusts, and moaning quietly with each inward stroke. The pleasure was greater than it had been in either memory or dream, and yet Gedrinel realised that he wanted something more.

He held Kallim’s hips still as he withdrew, gently but decisively.

“Gedrinel? Is it not...?” 

“Oh, it is. It very definitely is. But I don’t want us to do it like this, not this time.” Gedrinel waited for Kallim to stand and turn towards him with an anxious question in his huge dark eyes, then said, “Will you take your tunic off for me, and come over to the divan?” His fingers had already started work on the buttons of his own shirt.

Kallim smiled suddenly, and Gedrinel’s heart leapt at the sight.

He urged Kallim down onto his back on the narrow mattress and pushed his raised legs apart. Kneeling between them, he dipped his head, and tasted his lover’s skin. He started at the throat, worked down across the chest, pausing to suck at each of the gold-pierced nipples until Kallim was shaking, clutching at his head, and begging him for mercy in an urgent whisper. Then he shifted lower, kissed his way over Kallim’s flat, firm belly and finally reached his cock. He glanced up briefly to ensure that Kallim was watching, then took it in his mouth, all at once, as much as he could accommodate. 

Kallim yelped and tensed, his hips lifting clear of the bed. 

Gedrinel tapped a hand on Kallim’s hip to warn him to silence, and carried on sucking and licking gently, gauging Kallim’s response by his movements and stifled moans. He was careful not to offer too much, and when he judged that Kallim was approaching his end, he let the southerner’s cock slip from his mouth and sat back on his heels.

Kallim was staring up at him in astonishment, and breathing fast.

“Are you ready for me?” Gedrinel asked.

“Mezeth, Gedrinel,” Kallim replied fervently, wrapping a hand around his own hardened shaft. “I’m going to come the moment you’re inside me.”

Gedrinel, already sticky with sweat, felt a fresh wave of heat break over him. He grinned down at Kallim. “Good. That’s exactly how it should be.” He edged into position, steadied Kallim with a hand on his thigh, and slid himself home without further delay.

Kallim had not overstated the case. Barely had Gedrinel managed four or five thrusts before the southerner was convulsing around him, jamming a hand to his mouth to muffle his shouts, and spraying semen across his chest in great creamy spurts. It was Gedrinel’s signal to let himself go. He slammed himself into Kallim, again and again, as the most immense surge of pleasure began to swell within him. All the while he stared down at Kallim, who held the eye contact and murmured deliciously obscene Haradin words by way of encouragement. 

At the last Gedrinel forgot his own insistence upon silence. As his orgasm overtook him, he yelled the single word, “Yes!” and emptied himself into Kallim in a lengthy series of shuddering spasms. It was almost too much to comprehend.

Eventually Gedrinel slumped down onto Kallim’s chest, struggling to slow his breathing. He didn’t care that their bodies were sliding together, lubricated by a layer of semen and sweat; nor that every man on the ship must have heard his shout. What had it told them that they didn’t already know? In the peace that follows such an intense climax, he could see quite clearly that it mattered little.

After a while the sodden heat where their bodies met became too uncomfortable, so Gedrinel pulled himself free of Kallim and rolled to the side, balancing himself cautiously at the edge of the mattress. When they reached Dol Amroth, he would have to buy a wider divan.

“I think I’ve decided,” he said after a moment, “I prefer it this way.”

Kallim’s smile was radiant, his eyes bright. “Zereniyya,” he murmured, and bent his head to kiss Gedrinel’s shoulder.

Gedrinel stroked Kallim’s hair and pondered the events of the day. “If you’d arrived five minutes later, the Lynx would already have set sail,” he said.

“Then I would have had to hire a skiff and pursue you to the Royal Pier,” Kallim replied. His voice was a lazy, satisfied drawl.

“Would you really have done that?”

Kallim raised himself on one elbow and looked down at Gedrinel, as his fingers toyed with the hair on the captain’s chest. “I told you,” he said softly, “I would not let anything keep me from this.”

Gedrinel felt a familiar stinging in his eyes and blinked twice. “There will have to be some changes,” he said. “For a start, no more whippings. I’ll use the crop you gave me when I’m riding, instead.”

Kallim kissed his forehead and smiled, then assumed a theatrical pout. “Maybe you could just... stroke me with it sometimes,” he suggested innocently.

Gedrinel stared at him in disbelief for a second, noticed Kallim’s lip twitching, and succumbed to the uncontrollable explosion of mirth that was threatening to burst his chest. He snorted and chuckled, until the tears were sliding unchecked down his face, and his ribs were sore. Kallim, held tightly against him, was likewise shaking with laughter. It was some time before either of them was fit to speak.

“I cannot believe that I ever thought you were anything other than good for me,” Gedrinel said at last, wiping his eyes. “Are you sure that you want to spend your time with such a half-witted dullard?”

Kallim gave his most wicked grin and made a rapid lunge for Gedrinel’s cock. “Oh, I can live with the idea,” he said breezily. “You have your redeeming features.”

A little later they rose from the bed and did their best to make themselves presentable. Gedrinel added to his mental shopping list some new towels and a more capacious wash stand. He leaned against the edge of the map chest as he watched Kallim combing and fastening his hair.

“I meant what I said about the rules of the ship,” he said suddenly. “I don’t want you to think that I’m lording it over you, but that’s how the system works. No insolence in front of the men, or I’ll be forced to show you the cat; and believe me, that’s one punishment you wouldn’t enjoy.”

Kallim turned to him with an eyebrow raised, but seeing his serious expression, abandoned his witty response. “I do understand, zereniyya,” he said, “You have to keep the respect of the crew, and I will do nothing to undermine that. I shall be the model of deferential good behaviour from the moment we step through that door.”

Gedrinel crossed the room to hold his lover once more, before going out to face the men. “So long as you are nothing but yourself on this side of it,” he said, “I shall be happy.”

 

********************

 

After a late lunch with Imrahil and Legolas, the afternoon was spent on business matters. Firstly, Gedrinel showed Kallim over the ship, introducing him to key members of the crew. Everyone concerned seemed to be on their best behaviour, with nothing but polite good wishes all round. It was almost enough to make Gedrinel suspicious. 

Once Kallim had retired to his cabin to peruse the lists of goods for which he was to take responsibility, Gedrinel called Tamás into the Great Cabin. The first mate was only too pleased to obey. He stood before Gedrinel burning with eager curiosity, clearly working hard to keep his questions to himself.

Gedrinel indicated the chair opposite his, and Tamás dutifully sat. 

“Kallim is not joining us as a passenger,” Gedrinel began. “He will work as one of the men, and as my agent, he stands to increase the profits for all of us.” 

He went on to outline the terms of Kallim’s agreement, stressing that the southerner was to be shown no special favours, simply the respect due to any junior ship’s officer. 

“He may be my particular friend, but I will not have the balance of the crew upset by his presence,” Gedrinel said bluntly. Tamás, after all, was a good and loyal shipmate who could be trusted to do what was right, however loose his tongue may be on occasion. 

“I understand,” said Tamás smartly.

Gedrinel regarded him for a moment, then asked, “How much do you personally stand to gain by Kallim’s presence on board?”

“Oh, sir!” Tamás protested, then, seeing that Gedrinel was not impressed, he dropped the act. “Ten copper pieces and a gallon of ale when we reach Dol Amroth,” he said with a grin.

Gedrinel laughed. “I knew it! Well, as you have every reason to be pleasantly inclined towards Kallim from the outset, I am making you responsible for ensuring that the rest of the crew treat him appropriately. I think you know what I mean.”

Tamás nodded. “I don’t think you have any need to worry, Captain. The men would rather see you happy than -”

“Than chewing their ears off every five minutes in a foul temper. I know,” said Gedrinel. “Well, let’s hope it stays that way.”

By the time Gedrinel finished off his own paperwork and emerged onto the deck, Kallim had already joined the royal passengers near the prow. He and Legolas were leaning at the rail, gazing out at the westering sun, while Imrahil reclined in a folding chair, a glass of wine in his hand. It was a fine, calm evening, and the air was still warm. 

Gedrinel did not rush to his lover’s side. Instead, he walked the decks slowly, stopping to exchange a few words with the men as he went. It didn’t take him long to sense that Tamás was quite right in his assessment of the situation. The mood of the ship was contented, and the smiles he was catching from the corner of his eye held nothing worse than mild amusement. The exception, of course, was Dirgan; the bosun’s eyes were too firmly glued to Kallim’s backside for him to even notice Gedrinel’s presence on deck. It was no more than Gedrinel had expected, as Dirgan’s reputation was well known. He was an old hand on the Lynx, however, and it was unlikely that he’d do anything more than stare. At least he'd be happy enough to accept Kallim into his crew, should the extra hands ever be needed.

Eventually Gedrinel’s path brought him around to the prow, where he found Imrahil waiting to greet him.

“Will you leave your duties for a while, and take a glass of wine with us?” the prince asked. With his feet resting on an upturned crate, he was the very picture of relaxed contentment. 

Gedrinel looked across at Kallim, grinning at him from the rail where he stood with Legolas. The ship’s cat had appeared and was making a fool of itself around the elf’s legs, its usual disdain forgotten in its eagerness to ingratiate itself. When Legolas bent down to scratch behind its ears with a few quiet Elvish words, the beast’s purring was enough to make the very boards vibrate.

“Yet another conquest,” said Imrahil in an undertone, handing a glass to Gedrinel. 

Gedrinel laughed, and raised the goblet to his prince, and then to Legolas and Kallim. “Your very good health,” he said courteously.

“May I add to that?” Legolas said, lifting his own goblet and smiling first at Gedrinel and then, lingeringly, at Imrahil. “To friendship and love, and to all the adventures that lie ahead.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Imrahil said enthusiastically.

Gedrinel glanced from Imrahil to the elf as they gazed affectionately at each other, then allowed his eyes to meet Kallim’s. The southerner was glowing with happiness, and his expression as he smiled back at Gedrinel made his feelings utterly clear. Looking at him, Gedrinel felt a great warmth stealing over him, and with it came a sudden realisation of his incredible good fortune.

Gedrinel clutched his glass and swallowed around the lump in his throat. He smiled at Kallim and echoed the elf’s words, “To friendship and love.”

 

********** The End **********

 

Kallim Meddi: Honorific title

Mezeth: Ancient Haradin deity, often invoked as an oath.

Zereniyya: My captain


End file.
